


and this is who we are

by sunsetozier



Series: &tiwwa universe [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, M/M, Modern AU, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, bev eddie and richie are the mains losers in this, but bev has a girlfriend so, don't read the following tags if you don't want to see spoilers, gay slurs, only towards the beginning though, richie has a sexuality crisis, the other losers don't really come in until the later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: He realizes, suddenly, that being in a position like this meant nothing to him two weeks ago. At the time, it was completely normal, holding no real meaning other than comfort and tradition – after all, him and Eddie have been disgustingly cuddly with one another since they were kids, even though they’d usually bicker while holding each other close, much to the annoyance (and entertainment) of their friends.Now, however, Richie can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest, an undeniable thundering that echoes loudly in his ears. He can picture his younger self, as much of an oblivious idiot as he may have been, soaking in the warmth and the affection of Eddie’s touch when they hugged, shoved, or even just nudged one another. It’s funny, really, how much changes once you’re aware of how you feel.[In which Eddie and Beverly lie to their friends for five years before finally coming out, much to the surprise of one supposedly straight Richie Tozier.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you follow me on tumblr, you'll know i've been teasing the shit out of this fic for a while now, and i'm really excited to share it!! this is going to end up probably somewhere between 30k-40k words, but i am gonna see if there's any way for me to make it longer. i hope you like it!
> 
> WARNING: there is some use of the slur f*g/f*ggot towards the beginning, and one use of the slur d*ke, but it is very brief and does not come up again outside of the one scene they're used in.

             Eddie Kaspbrak and Beverly Marsh’s relationship was, without a doubt, the last thing any of their peers expected to see.

             The students of Derry High had been convinced that Eddie was gay. The poor kid had been teased and bullied about it back in grade school, and though he never said it was true, he’d never denied it, either; that had been all they needed to confirm their theory. As for Beverly, they’d heard _plenty_ of stories about the college guys she apparently spent her weekends with, using them for a quick fuck and dumping them once Monday came around. There was no way a girl like her would settle down.

             But then, on the first day of their Junior year, Eddie and Beverly marched into school with their hands clasped together and their heads held high. It was a bit suspicious at first, drawing the attention of a few of students here and there as they walked by, but their whole clique of friends were oddly physically affectionate, so it wasn’t anything alarming. At least, not until they shared a kiss and parted ways for class.

             On that day, many people had approached their friends and asked about it.

             “They’ve been dating for, like, two weeks,” Ben Hanscom told a freshman, his brows drawn together in confusion, as if bewildered by the thought that they had not already known. “Haven’t you checked any social media sites lately? They came out with their relationship last Friday.”

             When approached by a senior, Bill Denbrough said, “We didn’t expect it either, honestly, but they’re our best friends and they seem happy together. That’s all we care about.”

             Richie Tozier, with an exaggerated fake-sob, had shouted, “I’ve been betrayed! Spaghetti man stole Bev’s heart before I could get my hands on it! Never have I experienced a pain like this!” The girls who had initiated the conversation shared looks of mild annoyance, realizing that they had chosen the wrong loser if they wanted to get real information.

             “They’re pretty cute together, huh?” is all Mike Hanlon had offered in response, a smile so wide and genuine on his face that no one bothered to ask him more questions.

             The oddest reaction they received was from Stanley Uris, who merely hummed, a strange look in his eyes, and walked away without a word, leaving the poor sophomore who had tried to talk to him standing alone and confused in his wake.

             Eddie and Beverly’s relationship made no sense, not to anyone, not even to the other losers, but as the weeks went on and the two of them kept holding hands and giggling to one another like they were the only people in the world, it became evident that questioning them would change nothing. Eventually, people stopped trying to figure out how their relationship was fake and started praising it instead, because, as Mike had said, they were pretty cute with one another.

             Somehow, over the course of a month, the two went from a conspiracy theory waiting to be solved, to the power couple of Derry High School. Underclassmen practically swooned when they walked by, craving the mere perfection that they held. People placed bets that they would be engaged before graduating, whilst others insisted that they wouldn’t marry so young. Some people went as far as to believe that Beverly would have to buy her cap and gown big enough to fit a pregnant belly. Most of all, though, no one thought to question the two of them any further, and the rumors about them came to an end.

             That is, quite simply, exactly what they wanted.

 

 

 

 

             It was mid-summer when it happened.

             Eddie had been walking home from the Quarry, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face from spending a nice day with his friends. He hummed under his breath, whatever random tune that came to mind, and he wished the day didn’t have to end. Days like this were his favorite – where he was surrounded by the other losers, laying in the sun and blasting their favorite music, relaxed and comfortable and happy. With them, he felt at home, he felt safe, as if the world could be ending but so long as they were together, they would be fine.

             It was because of this comfort with them that he was considering revealing his biggest secret.

             The idea of exposing himself to anyone, even to the people he considers his family, was terrifying. Not because he thought they would hate him – god, no, he knew that they’d follow each other into certain death with grins on their faces – but because the more people that knew, the more likely that someone would let it slip and, suddenly, everyone in Derry would be aware of the truth.

             Perhaps, if he hadn’t been so lost in these thoughts while he was strolling down the side of the road, he would have seen Henry Bowers approaching and he would have had time to flee. But, as he gnawed on his lower lip and contemplated the pros and cons of telling his friends with his head angled towards the ground, he was unaware of the older boy, who had just graduated the previous June, until it was far too late. Henry knew he had the upper hand right off the bat, and, with a twisted grin, he purposefully shoved Eddie to the pavement and said, “Where do you think you’re going, girly boy?”

             Eddie was no longer a scrawny, scared eleven-year-old. Although his sixteen-year-old body was fairly thin – some might even say frail – he knew he was strong, and he knew he could win this if he wanted to. As soon as he hit the cement, he whipped his head around to glare at Henry and spat, “Fuck _off,_ Bowers.”

             “Oh, acting tough now, are we?” Henry released a condescending bark of laughter, kneeling down until he was nose-to-nose with Eddie. “Well, come on, then! Be tough, girly boy. Fight back.”

             Not needing to be told twice, Eddie rolled out from under Henry and pushed himself to his feet as quickly as possible, spinning around without a moment of hesitation, his fist swinging to collide with Henry’s jaw. Letting out an animalistic growl, Henry lunged forward with his teeth bare, sneering out cold insults and threats as he clawed at Eddie’s skin and threw him off balance, sending the both of them crashing back onto the ground.

             When Eddie breathed in, the world came to a crawl. He could see the sun high above him, bright and beautiful, the sky just beginning to edge into a glorious orange as the day bled away into night. Little patches of grass growing through the cracks in the cement tickled the back of his neck, pavement heated from the sunshine enough to be warm to the touch, something that was almost comforting in this odd little moment of bliss. When he breathed out, Henry’s knee came down hard on his stomach, forcing an _oof_ out of his mouth as he instinctively went to curl in on himself. This action managed to get Henry off of him momentarily, giving him the chance to roll away and send a harsh kick to the center of Henry’s chest, putting a few feet of space between them. Getting back onto his feet, Eddie decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and started sprinting down the road.

             Behind him, Henry cackled and yelled, “Run all you want, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a fucking faggot!” His voice was slightly breathless from the force of Eddie’s kick, and while Eddie felt a mild sense of smugness, he was mostly angry, pure rage boiling beneath his skin.

             The idea of going home after that encounter made him queasy, so he quickly changed course, heading in the complete opposite direction. He meant to go to Bill’s house, or maybe even Richie’s or Stan’s if Bill was busy, but he ran into Beverly on the way, who was simply strolling around to avoid going home for as long as she could get away with. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows shot up in concern and she closed the space between them, placing her hands on his shoulders as he came to a sudden stop, teetering on his feet and nearly crashing to the ground. “Jesus, Eddie,” she breathed, frowning as she examined the scratch marks on his face left behind by Henry’s nails. “What the hell happened?”

             “Bowers,” he told her simply, not needing to elaborate any further than that. They had both seen the things that Henry could do, were well aware of how heartless he was. When she ran her thumb lightly over the swollen skin surrounding the scratches, he let out a low hiss of pain and flinched away from her touch. She offered an apologetic smile and pulled her hand back, though her brows pinched together in worry and curiosity. Softly, he explained, “Called me a fag again.”

             Her features transformed into an incredulous anger. “Fuck that,” she practically growled, looking in the direction Eddie came from with a murderous glare. “He has no damn right to treat you like that, you know? He’s a dick, that’s all. A fucking asshole who’ll just waste away in this shitty town with the rest of these shitty people. And y’know where we’ll be? Far away from here, happy and successful, and he’ll regret ever calling you shit like that.”

             Swallowing thickly, Eddie found himself overwhelmed with the urge to tell her his secret, to blurt it out and get it over with. He couldn’t explain where the urge came from, but before he could weigh the pros and cons, as he had been before Henry’s arrival, he heard himself ask, “What if I am? A fag, I mean. What if I am one?”

             “Then that’s what you are,” Beverly answered without a moment of hesitation, turning her gaze back to him with a certain softness that hadn’t been there before. “He doesn’t get to call you one, though. Just like he can’t call me a dyke, even if I am one. That’s not his god damn right.”

             Eddie blinked in surprise. “Are you?”

             “I am,” she said, and there was no fear in her eyes, no wavering or faltering, and something about that made Eddie feel even safer than before. They stopped at the pharmacy to get some cheap medical supplies and cleaned up his scrapes. Neither of them mentioned what had been revealed before, but the smiles they shared were knowing and kind. While Eddie had always known he loved her, that was the day he realized that Beverly Marsh owned a piece of his very soul.

 

 

 

 

             A month before starting Junior year, Beverly showed up at Eddie’s window.

             He was startled to find her there, expecting it to be one of the boys. Richie and Bill were the two that usually came by late in the night, though Ben, Mike, and Stan had stopped by a few times before. They all had their own reasons for showing up, whether it be home issues or boredom, but never had Beverly knocked on the glass and asked to be invited inside. He let her in instantly, curious as to why she was there but aware that it must be fairly serious if she made her away all the way across town.

             Once she was inside, the window shut behind her, she stated, “You’re gay.”

             A bit shocked, he replied, “Yeah, I am. I thought we already established that.”

             “Does anyone else know, other than me?” The way she said this, voice a bit frantic and breathless, made him nervous. Wordlessly, he shook his head _no_ , to which she let out a slow breath and asked, “Why?”

             That was the last thing he expected to be confronted with. Silently, he sat back on his bed and let himself ponder his answer. Sure, he knew the basic reason – the fear of someone accidentally exposing him to the rest of Derry, the uncertainty of how his mother would react if she found out, especially if she found out from anyone other than him – but there was more to it than he’d let himself admit. Some of it was a bit petty, actually, and to allow himself to think of it made him feel guilty. This was different, though. This time, he was talking to Beverly, and though the guilt still coiled angrily in his stomach, he found it much easier to tell her, “It pisses me off that Bowers called me a faggot way before I realized it was true. If he ever found out… it’d feel like he won, you know? Because he was right.”

             “That makes sense,” she hummed, sitting next to him with her hands fidgeting in her lap. She pointedly avoided his gaze and said, “I haven’t told anyone because I don’t want my dad to find out. He… he always says gross shit about me being friends with you guys, but I know it’s because he likes to think I belong to him, or something. I have no idea how he’d react to this, but I know it’d be a hundred times worse than what he already does. I don’t want to tell anyone until after we graduate and move away from Derry, ‘cause he can’t do anything once I’m gone.”

             Eddie felt his chest ache at that. He knew well about how much of a scumbag Beverly’s father was, but she chose not to talk about it unless something particularly bad had happened, which usually resulted in her staying at Richie’s house until she could bare to go home again. The two of them were ridiculously close because of their unfortunate situations at home, able to confide and understand one another in a way that none of their other friends could. “My mom wouldn’t be happy either, but… We’ll be gone soon,” he promised her with a soft smile, placing a comforting hand on her knee. “Two more years of high school, and then we’re free to fuck off to wherever we want to go.”

             She grinned at that and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Far away from here,” she murmured giddily. “Y’know, I think I want to go to New York.”

             “New York sounds pretty great,” Eddie agreed with a nod. “I don’t know where everyone else wants to go, but I think they all have their minds set on the west coast.”

             Humming, Beverly said, “Seattle would be good, I think. LA is too hot for me. Besides, I’ve heard a lot of great things about the Seattle pride parade.” She paused with a light sigh. “But I think New York first, y’know? NYU is a good school. After that, though, I’d love to live in Seattle.”

             Eddie glanced down at Beverly in mild shock. “You want to go to NYU?” She didn’t reply, only nodding slightly. “So do I.”

             “Really?” Beverly asked, leaning away from Eddie to look at him properly. “Hm. The gays take over New York. Sounds like a damn good sitcom, huh?” Her eyes lit up as she slapped his shoulder excitedly, exclaiming, “Oh, my god! Can we paint our bedroom doors as pride flags? Oh! Oh, wait, no! You know those feather boa things? The, like, feather scarves, or whatever? We should get rainbow ones and just put them everywhere. Wait! Rainbow furniture! Eddie, are you listening to me? We could have a rainbow couch, Edward!”

             By this point, Eddie was hunched over in laughter, his shoulders shaking as he wheezed. “I’m listening,” he told her breathlessly, still giggling under his breath as he looked back to her. He sobered up upon seeing the hopeful look in her eyes, and sincerely he promised, “Our apartment will be however you want it be, Bev.”

             The following week, Eddie thought a lot about their situation – about how they were in a position where even coming out to their best friends felt impossible to do because of the town they live in. Even with Bowers gone (he had run off to Arizona, Bill heard someone say), he knew people would continue to assume and tease him for being gay. Even if they’re right, the prospect of spending two more years surrounded by people who felt like they knew him based simply on the way he looked and acted made him feel physically ill with a mixture of discomfort and anger.

             He was at the Quarry with his friends again when the idea hit him, and he pulled Beverly to the side frantically. “This is going to sound fucking insane,” he warned her quietly, pointedly ignoring the curious glances they were receiving from the others, “but just hear me out, okay?”

             She nodded, looking equal parts intrigued and concerned. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

             Gnawing on his lower lip nervously, he said, “I think there’s something we can do to make sure no one thinks we’re… y’know… so no one could find out about us.” He waited for understanding to flash across her features before explaining, “What if we… like… okay, it’s weird, I know, but what if pretended to date each other?” Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, he rambled on with, “Just, because, like- if people think we’re together, then they won’t think we’re gay,” he whispered the word under his breath, terrified of anyone overhearing him, “because we’d be dating each other, right? And then maybe people will stop calling you a whore or thinking you’re sleeping with a bunch of guys, ‘cause you’d be with me–”

             “Eddie,” Beverly interrupted, grinning. “You’re a _genius.”_ She looked back at the water, where their friends were waiting for them, and then looked back to him. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? I’ll stop by your place and we can iron out the details. Sound good?”

             For the next two years, Eddie and Beverly were the it couple of Derry High School, and not once did they figure out how or when they would tell their friends the truth. Somehow, they just never did.

 

 

 

 

             Richie bounces energetically in his seat, gazing out the window of the taxi as it maneuvers its way through city traffic, practically buzzing with excitement as he watches the buildings go by.

             He decided last month that he doesn’t want to spend the holidays with his folks – after the past two years of disastrous disappointment, he’s learned that even now, at the age of twenty-one, he cannot understand his parent’s heartless behavior in regards to their son – but he also doesn’t want to spend it alone. He considered taking up Bill’s offer of staying with his family, but he knows he wouldn’t feel comfortable there, with people he doesn’t consider family of his own, so he politely declined. Instead, he called up Beverly and Eddie to ask if they were planning on going back to Derry, using the excuse that he wants to see them, and was happy to find that they weren’t.

             It makes sense, really. Out of all the losers, the three of them have parents that they’d happily never talk to again.

             That’s why Richie’s decided to surprise his friends and visit them for the holidays instead.

             The last time he saw Beverly and Eddie was over the summer, when he finally convinced them to fly over to LA and stay with him for a week. They’d had a blast, dedicating their days to going to the beach and watching shitty 80’s movies long into the night. Something he loves about them is how they don’t act overly romantic – even after being together for five years, their relationship doesn’t change how they interact with their friends. It’s something that Richie appreciates and admires, even if the relationship itself still baffles him to this day.

             Don’t get him wrong, he’s happy for them, but it just… doesn’t add up in his head. He can’t really explain why, and trying to figure it out makes him feel oddly guilty, so he usually shoves the thoughts away and moves on. Hopefully, they won’t pop up during his impromptu trip to visit the happy couple. If they do, he will be thoroughly upset with himself.

             “Here we are,” the taxi driver announces suddenly, pulling up to the curb. Richie grins, scrambling to unbuckle his seatbelt as he reaches for the door handle, throwing the door open excitedly. “Do you need any help with your bags, sir?”

             Spinning around, Richie pulls out a few bills from his pocket and hands it to the driver to pay for the ride. “I got it, thanks.”

             “No problem, sir,” the driver smiles. “Happy holidays.”

             _Happy holidays, indeed_ , Richie thinks. “You too, thank you!”

             He’s been to Bev and Eddie’s apartment before, when he came to visit them over spring break earlier this year. Stan and Mike were the only other ones who could make it besides him, so they all opted to sleep in a hotel around the corner instead of trying to squeeze all three of them into the guest room. He only actually entered their apartment briefly during that visit, usually just to sit down for an hour or so before departing back to his hotel room to sleep off the exhaustion of running around New York with some of his best friends.

             This time, though, it’s just him that’s visiting, and while it’s a surprise visit, he knows that they’ll be happy to give him the guest room. Once they’re past the initial surprise of him showing up on their doorstep, of course.

             As soon as he gets his suitcase out of the trunk of the taxi, he waves to the driver through the window and waits until the car pulls away before turning towards the apartment building towering over him. He absentmindedly wonders if they’ll even be home, but shoves that concern to the side – if they’re gone, he’ll just call them and pretend that he’s bored, as he usually does when he’s actually bored, before asking them where they are and what they’re doing. After three years of living on opposite sides of the country, they’re well accustomed to his random phone calls during odd times of the day where he pesters them for information out of pure curiosity and mind-numbing boredom. It’s not his fault, really – Mike, Stan, Ben, and Bill are all in Seattle, and Eddie and Beverly are in New York. Richie’s all alone in LA, and sure, he has a few friends from the radio station he works at, but those friends aren’t his fellow losers. He can’t wait until next year, when him, Eddie, and Bev are planning on joining the others in Seattle, where they’ll all be able to see one another nearly every day, like it should be.

             For now, though, random visits will have to do.

             He has a feeling that this is going to be the best Christmas ever.

             Thankfully, despite the fact that it’s been nearly eight months since he was here last, he remembers which apartment to go to. He’s grateful to find that the elevator in the building isn’t broken like it had been last time, allowing him to drag his suitcase into the contraption and let it take him to the top floor of the building instead of having to haul his things up the stairs. As he approaches the top floor, he finds himself restless with a joyful energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet and humming happily to himself as he thinks about seeing two of his best friends for the first time since summer.

             The doors slide open and Richie practically launches himself through them, eyes scanning over the doors before him as he briskly walks down the hall. His heart is pounding in his chest as he turns the corner, trying and failing to bite back a grin as he comes to a stop outside of the proper apartment door. He can hear music playing inside, mixed with the familiar laughter of the one and only Beverly Marsh, causing his grin to grow even wider, to the point where he thinks his face might split in half. Curiously, he reaches forward to twist the doorknob, pleasantly surprised to find the door unlocked. Briefly, he considers knocking like a normal person, but Richie Tozier is not a normal person and his friends are well aware of that. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he cracks the door slightly and inches forward to peek through the sliver of visibility. He can’t see much through it, but it’s enough to alert him that there’s no one on the other side, so – after taking a deep breath to try and calm his excitement – he flings the door open and yells, “Merry Christmas, assholes! Your favorite Trashmouth has arrived to give you the best present of all–”

             Richie cuts off abruptly, his smile falling into a slack-jawed look of surprise as his eyes scan his surroundings. The layout of the apartment is just as he remembers, with the door opening up to the living room, an entryway leading to the kitchen to the left and a hallway straight ahead, where the bathroom and two bedrooms are located. A black leather couch is positioned in the center of the living room, lined up with the television placed against the far wall, both resting atop a plush brown carpet that looks just as soft as it feels – all of which is exactly as Richie remembers.

             What he _doesn’t_ remember, though, is the giant rainbow flag pinned up on the wall by the doorway, or the string of fairy lights dangling in the entryway to the kitchen, or the pretty blond girl perched in Beverly Marsh’s lap pressing bruising kisses to her lips. Feeling his eyes go wide as saucers, he slowly finishes his sentence under his breath, voice a bit raspy from the amount of shock running cold in his veins. “…time.”

             “Oh, my god,” Beverly breathes, carefully maneuvering the girl off of her lap before scrambling to push herself to her feet, rounding the couch only to come to a halt a few feet away from Richie, hands held out in front of her awkwardly, uncertain. “What are you doing here, Richie?”

             Glancing between Beverly and the strange girl, who looks far more concerned by the situation at hand than a stranger should, Richie stammers out, “Uh- I, uh… Christmas? I wanted- I didn’t want to- to spend the holidays alone, and you- Eddie- _you_ and _Eddie_ \- what the _fuck?”_

             Beverly brings one of her hands up to run it through her hair and places the other one on her hip, gnawing nervously on her lower lip. She turns her head and glances back to the girl, sharing a look that Richie can’t even begin to understand, before facing Richie once more and saying, “Well, shit.”

             “Babe,” the girl on the sofa murmurs, gaze trained on Beverly intently. “I think this’ll be easier if both of you sat down.”

             Richie’s brows pinch together at the pet name, but he doesn’t say anything yet, instead closing the door behind him and leaning his suitcase against the wall before numbly making his way to the couch and sitting down, making sure to keep at least a foot of space between him and the girls. He isn’t sure how much time passes with him staring down at his hands, stomach churning uncomfortably and palms clammy, but eventually he manages to ask, “Are you cheating on Eddie?”

             A strange, choked noise comes from Beverly, something akin to a laugh and a gasp. “No, of course not!”

             “Really?” Richie questions, finally looking up to meet Beverly’s gaze. “Then why were you mouth-fucking someone who isn’t your boyfriend of five years?” He knows his words are accusing, but his tone is not and she can tell he isn’t trying to pin a false truth onto her. He’s genuinely asking for the sake of knowing the answer, not because he thinks she’s capable of doing something so horrible.

             With a look that seems equal parts fearful and solemn, Beverly gestures to the other girl and says, “This is Valery. She’s… my girlfriend.”

             Blinking once, Richie states, “Yeah, I’m not following.”

             “Beverly’s a lesbian,” Valery fills in simply. “Nice to meet you, by the way. I’ve heard a lot of stories. Wish the circumstances were better, though.”

             Richie gives her a contemplative look before muttering, “Nice to meet you, too, I guess.” Turning back to Beverly, he says, “I still don’t understand what’s going on right now. Like, I’m completely lost. Did you and Eddie break up because you’re a lesbian? Is this some kind of polyamorous thing where Eddie just, like, watches? ‘Cause I’m not gonna judge, just so you know.”

             “I know you won’t, Rich,” Beverly swears softly, offering a gentle smile as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “It’s… it’s a long story. Eddie should be here when you hear it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got excited and decided to post chapter two as well.
> 
> next chapter will be up in a few days!

             Eddie feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

             He’d gotten the call from Beverly twenty minutes ago, alerting him of the unexpected visit from Richie fucking Tozier. “He walked in on Val and I,” she’d murmured into the phone, sounding almost guilty as she said it, no doubt blaming herself for something she had no control over. “There’s no way out of this, Eddie. We have to come clean.”

             On any other day, he’d be happy to come clean – being clean is, after all, the one habit from his childhood that he’s carried over into adult life, resulting in a strict showering routine that he refuses to stray from – but this is the one subject he’s terrified to breach. It was never supposed to last this long, the lie that him and Beverly started back when they were sixteen-years-old and terrified of the rest of Derry learning their shared secret, but by now it feels like a safety blanket. Now, with the comfort of that blanket getting forcefully ripped away, he feels bare, exposed, and absolutely fucking terrified.

             The elevator dings as the doors slide open, and Eddie knows he can’t delay this, no matter how much he wants to. It’s unfair of him, though – he’s delayed this for five years. His friends deserve the truth. Richie deserves the truth.

             With a deep breath, he trudges down the hall and turns the corner, ears straining to hear the sound of his friends. It’s a bit unnerving when he can’t pick up a single familiar voice, making him wonder what exactly he’s about to walk into. If Richie, the boy who’s known for talking through anything, is silent, that’s not a good sign.

             Eddie may or may not hold his breath when he pushes open his apartment door, anxiety tingly underneath his skin. Inside, he finds Valery in the kitchen making dinner as Beverly and Richie sit silently on opposite ends of the couch, avoiding eye contact with one another awkwardly, which is alarming all on its own. The losers are hardly uncomfortable around one another, but Bev and Richie had never – _never_ – been awkward with each other. When he walks in, Beverly instantly springs to her feet and closes the space between them, throwing her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace, as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, but he knows it’s just for comfort so he places a hand against the curve of her spine and buries his nose into the soft skin of her neck, breathing in deeply to calm his steadily rising heart rate.

             “It’s fine,” he murmurs, though the words are meant for himself just as much as they are for her. “He might be mad at first, but you know Richie. There’s no way he’d hate us for something like this.”

             Tightening her hold on him, she whispers back, “I know. I’m just scared.”

             “Me, too,” he admits under his breath as he pulls back from the embrace, offering a tight-lipped smile before making his way around her and towards the couch. Richie’s already looking at him, with wide eyes shining in curiosity and confusion, brimming with millions of unanswered questions that Eddie is afraid to hear. Instead of addressing the matter head-on, he merely nods in greeting and holds out his arms with a grin. “You get a hug, too, asshole. Come on, get up.”

             Richie looks conflicted for a total of two seconds before breaking out into a small smile and pushing himself to his feet, practically throwing himself at Eddie to envelope him into a hug. Despite the fear still roaring loudly in his ears, Eddie can’t help but laugh as Richie sways the both of them dramatically from side to side, obnoxiously cooing, “Damn, I’ve missed the fuck out of you, Kaspbrak!”

             “Yeah, yeah,” Eddie chuckles, shoving at Richie’s shoulder as he pulls away from the hug. “I missed you, too, you dumb oaf.”

             From a few feet away, Beverly clears her throat to draw their attention, looking anxious. “I never got a hug, Rich,” she points out meekly, gnawing on her lower lip. Richie’s features soften and he quickly steps towards her, folding her up in his arms with a long exhale.

             “Sorry, Bevvie,” Richie say softly. “I was a little distracted when I came in, seeing you sucking face with a girl, y’know? It didn’t cross my mind to pause and say hi properly.”

             Melting into the hug, Beverly shakes her head and assures, “It’s fine. I don’t expect you to act normal after walking in on that.” They murmur a bit more to one another, too soft for Eddie to hear, but as both of their shoulders shake with giggles from whatever it is they’re saying he finds that he doesn’t mind being left out of the loop. After a few moment of this, Richie finally ends the embrace and settles back against the sofa, looking up at the two of them expectantly.

             “Right,” Eddie sighs, sharing a nervous look with Beverly as he wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans. “Well, let’s make a few things clear. First of all, Bev and I aren’t dating. We never were.” He sees Richie’s eyebrows shoot up at this, but quickly goes on to add, “Second of all, we’re both gay. Any questions?”

             Richie raises a hand and asks, “Uh- what?”

             Timidly, Eddie responds, “I’m gonna need a more specific question than that, Rich.”

             “Okay,” Richie draws out slowly, his hand falling back to his side, brows now pinched together in thought as he glances between his two friends, who both pointedly avoid meeting his gaze. “You guys never dated? Like, at all? The past five years where we all thought you were together, you weren’t?”

             Shaking her head, Beverly elaborates, “We faked it, to cover up any rumors about us. We meant to tell you guys, but then we got scared that one of you might accidentally let the truth slip to the rest of Derry, so we decided to wait until after we moved. But, then, like… the months kept coming and we kept pushing it back, not knowing how to say it, ‘cause you guys had already thought we were dating for two years by then, y’know? We couldn’t even begin to think of how to bring it up, or how to tell you guys, so we just… we never did.” She looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together nervously, and mumbles, “We shouldn’t have kept it from all of you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

             Richie’s brows furrow together even more, but he offers no response, instead looking to Eddie, who takes a moment to inhale slowly before saying, “We’re both sorry. We should have told you guys, you shouldn’t have had to find out like this.”

             There’s a moment of silence that follows, not exactly tense but contemplative, as if Richie is pondering his next move. Then, almost tentative, he asks, “Are you gonna tell the others? Now that I know, are you going to tell them?”

             “I…” Eddie trails off, looking to Beverly in slight alarm. “We… uh… I don’t know? We haven’t talked about that. We’re only telling you right now because we have no other choice, honestly.”

             This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Richie’s features twist up into some kind of pained confusion, a mixture of offense and hurt. “You’re only telling me because you have no other choice?” he repeats, running his hands through his hair and tugging at a few of the strands absentmindedly. “Were you ever gonna tell me if this didn’t happen? Were you ever gonna tell any of us?”

             “No!” Eddie exclaims, eyes going wide. “That’s not what I–”

             “Of _course_ we were going to tell you,” Beverly interrupts, kneeling onto the ground and taking one of Richie’s hands into her own, her features pleading. “We never wanted to lie to you, but this kind of secret… it felt dangerous to tell anyone else. I mean, Bowers was already beating on Eddie because of the assumption that he was gay, what do you think would have happened if he found out it was true? And you know damn well that his mom would have shipped him off to some conversion therapy or something just as bad at that. And… you _know_ how my dad is, Rich. I couldn’t risk him finding out, and we both knew you guys wouldn’t intentionally tell anyone else, but it was the fear that someone might overhear us that made us choose to keep it quiet.” By this point, Richie’s strained features have slackened and he watches as she blubbers on, clutching onto her hand like a lifeline. Wordlessly, Eddie steps forward and sits next to him, taking his other hand as Beverly goes on. “Eddie and I, we didn’t even dare to talk about it outside of his room, and even then we waited until we knew his mom was asleep. It was- it was so _scary_ , Richie, and when we graduated we were so excited to tell you guys the truth. It was killing us keeping it from you, but when we tried, we choked, and we realized how- how _horrible_ it would be, trying to justify lying to the people we love more than anything for _two years._ It was so hard trying to figure out how to tell you, to the point where Eddie started having to rely on his inhaler again for a while because he was having so many panic attacks over it, so we decided to wait until we were ready. But… but we’ll _never_ be ready for this, because this is so much scarier, Rich. Not knowing if you’ll forgive us is so much worse.”

             Immediately, Richie uses his grip on their hands to pull them closer, wrapping both of them up in his arms and releasing what sounds almost like a sob. “There’s nothing to forgive you for,” he promises, burying his face into Eddie’s hair and squeezing Beverly’s shoulders. “I understand, okay? And I know everyone else will understand, too. You just have to be honest. Losers don’t lie to each other, remember?”

             Letting out a wet, teary-eyed laugh, Eddie nods and presses his cheek to Richie’s chest. “Yeah, we remember, Richie.”

             “Good,” Richie states firmly. “’Cause I didn’t slice my fucking hand open to make a blood oath just to have it broken because you guys are gay.”

             Beverly snorts at that, looking both surprised and amused. “That blood oath was made when we were thirteen,” she points out, pulling back from the embrace to shake her head at him. “And we made a lot of promises with that oath, not just that one.”

             “But it was one of the promises!” Richie defends, using his now free arm to pull Eddie closer to him. “And that means you have to come clean to the rest of the group, or else you’re breaking the oath!”

             Valery steps into the living room then, grinning at the scene before announcing, “I don’t want to interrupt your moment, but dinner’s done. Also,” she looks pointedly to Bev, “I expect to hear the story of this blood oath while we’re eating, ‘cause that’s something you’ve never told me.”

             Releasing Eddie, Richie pushes himself to his feet and puts on a dramatic storytelling voice. “It all started with a storm,” he says eerily, trailing behind Valery into the kitchen, leaving Eddie and Beverly alone in the living room. They share wide smiles and giggle lightly to themselves, the relief flooding through their veins almost intoxicating as they grab one another’s hands.

             “That went better than I thought it would,” Eddie tells her.

             Beverly nods in agreement. “He’s right, though. We have to tell the rest of them, too.”

             Letting out a soft sigh, Eddie murmurs, “Yeah, I know.”

 

 

 

 

             The rest of the night feels fairly normal, considering the circumstances. Richie finds his mind drifting on more than one occasion, scrambling for pieces of evidence in the past five years that hinted at the truth. It explains why Bev and Eddie’s relationship never affected the way that they behaved around their group of friends, because there was no real relationship in the first place. It also explains why they hardly ever kissed in public – Richie always assumed that they just weren’t PDA people, when in reality they only made themselves kiss to prove to others that they were dating. There are a million things that point to their relationship being fake, and despite how hard he tries, Richie can’t get his mind off of it.

             As expected, they don’t mind letting Richie stay with them, but there’s no guest room for him to use. What he’d always been told was the guest room turns out to be Bev and Valery’s room, leaving him with two options. “You can stay in my room,” Eddie tells him after the girls have retreated to bed for the night, “or you can sleep on the couch. It’s up to you.”

             “I’ll take the couch,” Richie shrugs, falling back against the sofa with a slow exhale.

             Eddie blinks. “Okay, and by it’s up to you, I mean it’s up to me, and you’re staying in my room. You’re the guest, you get the bed.”

             Scoffing, Richie reclines further into the sofa cushions and shakes his head. “We’ve been friends since we were five, Eds. I don’t think I count as a guest anymore.”

             “You’re a guest to this apartment,” Eddie argues, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ve only been here a few times, which means you get the bed.” Then, a bit meek, he adds, “Besides, I owe you after lying for so long. Just take my room, Rich. I usually fall asleep on the couch anyway, I’m fine with it.”

             Giving Eddie a bewildered look, Richie states, “You don’t owe me anything, Spaghetti man. I get why you kept it a secret, I’m not mad or anything. You owe me nothing, and I don’t want to rob you of your room.”

             Sighing, Eddie murmurs, “You say that, but…but I _do_ , okay? I owe you a lot, at least in my mind, ‘cause… I _lied,_ Rich. I lied for a long time, and we promised not to lie to each other, y’know? And not just in that dumb oath we all made when we were kids, but me and you, remember? We were, like, nine-years-old, and your mom was just starting to lose herself and you always came to my house, and you wouldn’t tell me why, and–”

             “And you said that best friends don’t lie to each other,” Richie finishes softly, his eyes glazed over as he envisions the memory. “I told you that I thought Bill was your best friend, and you just looked at me and said that there was something special about us.”

             With a gentle smile, Eddie nods. “Yeah, exactly. And, the night I said that, you told me about your parents, and I told you about my mom, and we promised to always be honest with each other, no matter what. I broke that promise, Richie. I broke it for _years_ , and you can say I don’t owe you all you want, but I do, okay? For my own sanity, _please_ just let me do what I can to make it up to you.”

             Richie takes a moment to ponder this, gnawing on his lower lip with his hands clasped together in his lap, scanning over Eddie’s features curiously. There’s a whirlwind of thoughts in his head, surprisingly directed mostly at himself, and he finds that he can’t fight Eddie on this. “Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. Relief washes over Eddie’s features and he parts his lip to speak, only to be interrupted by Richie holding up a hand and adding, “But not the whole time, okay? I’m here because we all have shitty parents and don’t want to go home for Christmas, which means that I’m gonna be here until at least New Year. I’m not stealing your bed for three weeks straight, so we need to switch or something. Like, I’ll take it tonight, you take it tomorrow, and we just go back and forth. Is that okay?”

             Though he clearly wants to protest, Eddie sighs and nods again. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

             “Cool,” Richie grins, pushing himself to his feet and ruffling Eddie’s hair. “On that note, I’m fucking exhausted from the flight here, so I’m gonna go lay down. Do you need anything from your room before I crash?”

             Swatting away Richie’s hand with a huff of laughter, Eddie takes a moment to think before shrugging. “Just some pajama’s or something, but I don’t mind going in there to grab shit while you’re sleeping. Unless that bugs you, then I won’t.”

             “I don’t mind,” Richie assures. Then, without any sort of warning, he pulls Eddie into a tender hug, even ducking his head to press his nose to the underside of Eddie’s jaw and properly nuzzle against his neck. A bit shocked at the action, Eddie takes a moment to reciprocate, slowly bringing his hands up to wrap around Richie’s shoulders and clutch onto his shirt, resting his cheek atop of Richie’s curls.

             Under his breath, Eddie asks, “You good, ‘Chee?”

             He can feel Richie’s smile against his skin when he answers, “I’m good, Eds. Just missed you.”

             “I missed you, too, you fucking loser,” Eddie replies, grinning to himself. “Now get the fuck off me and go to bed. You look like you could drop dead at any second.”

             Releasing a surprised bark of laughter, Richie pulls back and shakes out his hair, pushing his glasses back up from where they were sliding down the slope of his nose. “Y’know, I was wondering why Bev’s got a girlfriend and you don’t have some hot guy living here, but you just reminded me of how mean you are, so it makes sense. Thanks for clearing that up.”

             “Oh, fuck off, Tozier,” Eddie sneers, but there’s no real anger to his words as his eyes shine in amusement. He shoves at Richie’s shoulder and instructs, “Go lay down. Seriously, I’m starting to get worried. The bags under your eyes look like bruises.” Richie pouts playfully, but Eddie just rolls his eyes and points towards the hallway, brows raised. “I’m not taking no for an answer, dipshit. Move that perky butt of yours and go get some rest.”

             Placing a hand over his heart, Richie stage-whispers, “You’ve looked at my butt? Edward, how _scandalous_ \- ow!” He jumps back with a yelp as Eddie mercilessly pinches his ass – not in a cute, teasing way, but in a way that actually hurts. Jutting his lower lip out into a more genuine (and childish) pout, Richie rubs at the spot Eddie pinched and relents, “Okay, okay! Jesus, Eds, I think you just left a bruise, fucking Christ!”

             “Should have listened to me the first time,” Eddie says smugly, giggling under his breath as Richie trudges down the hallway, still complaining as he goes. Once he’s out of sight, he falls back onto the sofa and releases a soft, happy sigh, thinking about how grateful he is to have a friend like Richie Tozier.

 

 

 

 

             Richie, despite the fact that he feels like dead-weight from fatigue, struggles immensely to fall asleep. He wasted no time to throw on the first pair of sweatpants he could find in his suitcase and practically launched himself under the covers of Eddie’s bed, but once he settled against the soft pillows and pulled the duvet up to wrap around his shoulders, his mind began to race with unwelcome thoughts.

             Mostly, it’s about Bev and Eddie, which would make sense if he were still reeling from the information he’d learned a few hours prior, but he isn’t. Instead, he’s scrambling to understand why it makes sense to him that they faked it all – why, after five years of their relationship, it just feels right to hear that none of it was real. He never thought they were lying about being together, not once did the possibility cross his mind, but now that he’s heard the truth, he feels as if he knew it all along. Like, somehow, he always believed that they weren’t being honest, even though that’s not even close to true.

             So why is he still thinking about it as the alarm clock by Eddie’s bed glares at him, showing him the minutes as they tick by, quickly turning into hours? Why is he so hung up over this, the words _I knew it_ repeating over and over in his head? He didn’t know anything. He thought they were together.

             Sure, it always felt a little off to him, their relationship not really making sense whenever he thought about it (and he thought about it a lot when he was sixteen, for some reason), but he was never certain of anything. At the time, he just thought that the two didn’t seem compatible for anything more than a friendship. He was right about that, apparently, but not in the way he assumed he would be.

             “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, turning his head to bury his face into the pillows beneath him. He doesn’t want to be thinking about this, but it just won’t leave his mind no matter how hard he tries to force the thoughts away. They’re insistent and relentless, poking and prodding at every corner of his brain until, finally, as it’s nearing two in the morning, he gives in and properly begins to dive into the depths of his curiosity, pondering over every question that enters his head until he can feel an ache throbbing behind his eyes.

             When Bev and Eddie told them they were dating, they’d been nervous. Like, _extremely_ nervous – far more nervous than necessary for something like this. The others had all assured them that they were perfectly fine with their relationship, that it wasn’t going to change anything, even if it would take a few days to get used to. Even after that, though, they seemed nervous. Richie had seen the way they shared anxious looks and gripped onto each other’s hands; not in a romantic kind of way, but in the same way Bill held his hand when Georgie went missing when they were kids, or how Richie held Stan’s hand when his dad was in a bad mood and wouldn’t stop yelling. It was the kind of hand holding where the other person’s grip on you was a grounding point, tethering you to earth, preventing you from floating away or crumbling in on yourself. It was the kind of hand holding that reminded you that you’re not alone, that someone is with you and that person believes in you, loves you. It was the kind of hand holding that only happens when you’re afraid, where you hold onto each other so tight that you cut off the circulation from each other’s fingers and can’t bring yourself to care, where you feel like you might die if either of you let go.

             Bev and Eddie were terrified, and Richie wasn’t able to figure out why, but now he knows. They were scared that something would go wrong, that their secret would be exposed, that their sexualities would put them in legitimate danger.

             He was invested in their relationship back then, he realizes. It was hard to look away from them when they were in the same room, as if they were a magnet drawing his eyes towards them at any given moment. There were days where he couldn’t focus on anything but his friends, trying to piece together an incoherent whispering in the back of his mind that wouldn’t leave him alone. Eventually, he decided that he must have had some kind of subconscious crush on Beverly, if the odd flare of jealousy in his chest whenever he looked at them was anything to go by, but that didn’t make much sense, either. She was a sister to him, the sibling he never had as a kid but found when he was eleven and Beverly Marsh stumbled into their friend group.

             Beverly has always been his sister, the one who understands him so well, who can tell what he’s thinking with just a look and who knows how to communicate with him without saying anything at all. Stan, his brother, the one who will always be brutally honest and protect his loved ones with everything he has. Mike, the inspiring, the one that can hold his own ground and loves with his whole being. Ben, the sentimental, the one that can keep a secret better than anyone else, who prefers to remain pacifist but can kick some serious ass if he wants to. Bill, their fearless leader, the one who reminds them of how strong they can be, who encourages them, believes in them more than anyone. Eddie, his… his partner in crime, his something-special (as nine-year-old Eddie had so eloquently put it). Eddie, the other half of his soul, the one who may appear weaker due to his smaller build but is actually the strongest of them all. Eddie, the person who Richie would kill for, would die for, in the blink of an eye.

             Eddie, his Eddie, for there is no other way to explain how much the boy means to him.

             As Richie finally drifts off to a dreamless sleep, his finds himself thinking _, My Eddie, my love, I’m afraid I..._

             He’s asleep before he can finish the thought. When he wakes up, it has already been forgotten.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!! next chapter will be out friday!!

             Eddie is still sleeping when Richie stumbles into the living room the following morning, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he blinks away the bleariness from his vision. He pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles softly at Eddie’s figure, knees curled up to his chest and lips parted to let out quiet puffs of breath, hair splayed over his forehead and blanket draped over him gently. For a moment, he ponders waking him up, but chooses against it and makes his way to the kitchen instead, where he finds Valery and Beverly maneuvering around each other as they put together breakfast.

             Freezing in the doorway, Richie takes a moment to watch them move with one another curiously. Beverly is humming along to the song playing from her phone, whereas Valery is dramatically mouthing the lyrics, going back and forth from flipping the pancakes in front of her and using the spatula as a pretend microphone, sending Beverly into a fit of giggles that brings a happy rosiness to her cheeks and a wide grin upon her face. Visibly brightening at the sight of Bev’s grin, Valery sets the spatula down and reaches forward to clasp their hands together – not the scared kind of hand holding, but the cute kind, the loving kind – and pulls Beverly closer to her, sealing their lips together in a quick, heartwarming kiss.

             “You two are disgustingly cute together,” Richie states simply, unable to contain his smile as he finally steps forward to properly enter the kitchen, snatching a piece of bacon off of the plate sitting on the counter as he does so.

             Rolling her eyes, Beverly pulls back from Valery and swats at his hand weakly, warning, “Don’t you _dare_ , Tozier. Breakfast will be done in ten minutes, you can keep your grubby hands to yourself and wait until the food’s ready.”

             “No, I can’t,” he responds as earnestly as possible, shoving the bacon into his mouth. “I’m a growing boy and I need constant substance or else I will die. Do you want me to die, Bev? Is that what you’re saying? You want good ol’ Trashmouth to drop dead on your kitchen floor?”

             From the living room, Eddie’s voice, heavy and slurred from sleep, calls out, “Stop being a fucking drama queen, Richie.”

             “Sleeping Beauty has risen!” Richie exclaims excitedly, snatching another piece of bacon off the plate and ducking away from the punch Beverly throws his way before dashing into the living room with a grin. On the couch, Eddie blinks slowly up at him, as if struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing due to just waking up. He’s still laying down, but his knees are no longer drawn up to chest and the blanket has been kicked off and pushed to the floor. Richie takes a moment to eat the bacon, knowing better than to risk choking for the sake of doing something that probably isn’t even funny, before launching himself onto the sofa, landing on top of Eddie with a low  _oof._

             Letting out a pained groan, Eddie shoves at Richie’s shoulders and whines, “Get _off_ of me, asshole! You weigh, like, twelve tons!”

             “That’s not even close to true,” Richie says, nuzzling his face against Eddie’s neck with a content sigh. “Stop squirming, you fucking worm. I’m trying to cuddle with you. Don’t you know what cuddling is? ‘Cause it usually doesn’t involve kicking- _ow!”_ He pulls back and incredulously looks down at Eddie, who’s biting back an amused laugh. “You just kneed me in the nuts!”

             “Did I?” Eddie asks, feigning innocence and wriggling even more to try and push Richie off of the couch. “Sorry, Rich, I was just trying to free myself from this shitty prison you’ve put me in. Maybe if you–” he shoves Richie’s shoulder, to no avail, “–would get off of me–” he brings up a knee, once again aiming for Richie’s groin, but this time the move is deflected, “–like I _asked_ you to–”

             “You didn’t ask!” Richie interrupts, openly giggling as he attempts to pin all of Eddie’s limbs to the couch. “You said I weigh twelve tons and kneed me in the dick! That’s not asking, that’s being a brat!”

             With a loud huff, Eddie manages to free his arm from Richie’s grasp and starts shoving at Richie’s torso, trying to send him toppling to the ground. “Yeah, well, I’m a brat! Are you just figuring that one out? I thought you knew me by now.”

             Giving up, Richie voluntarily rolls off the couch and onto the plush carpet, erupting into a loud _guffaw_ of peeling laughter. Eddie quickly joins in, clutching at his stomach and wiping away the tears that stream down his face in result. They’re too lost in the moment to notice Valery and Bev standing in the entryway to the kitchen, sharing amused looks and watching the scene with wide smiles.

             “Okay, that’s enough,” Beverly announces after a few long moments, clapping her hands to draw their attention. “Breakfast is done, get your asses up and make your plates.”

             “Yes, Mom,” Eddie and Richie reply in unison, which only succeeds in sending them into another fit of giggles. Eddie is the first to push himself to his feet, reaching down to help pull Richie off the floor, both of them grinning as they make their way to the kitchen to get their food. Briefly, Richie feels a nagging thought in the back of his mind, whispering to him – something about whatever he’d been thinking about the night before, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye, leaving him a bit stunned and confused. He shrugs it off, though, and goes on with his morning. If it was important enough, he’ll probably remember it later.

             Valery is, as Richie learns over the course of the following two hours, absolutely perfect for Beverly. The two of them balance each other out in such a beautiful way, leaning into each other’s touch absentmindedly, finishing each other’s thoughts and relying on one another to fill in the gaps as they try to tell the story of how they met.

             “It was pretty much right after Eddie and I moved here,” Beverly explains, gesturing with her hands thoughtlessly as she talks. “It was required for us to live in the dorms our first year at NYU, remember? We were, like, thoroughly pissed about it, because we’d spent the last two years of high school talking about how we wanted our apartment to look and we had to wait another year before we could have that. It turned out to be a good thing, though, because Val was my roommate.”

             Laughing lightly, Valery continued, “You have to understand this, okay? Bev was just finally living life as a completely open lesbian to the public, and she was so excited about it that she went overboard with pride. Like, when we met, she just introduced herself as a lesbian. Didn’t tell me her name or anything, just said, ‘Hey, nice to meet you, I’m gay,’ and I was like, ‘Shit, okay, me, too.’”

             Richie snorts, looking to Beverly with raised eyebrows. “Smooth.”

             “Fuck off,” Beverly defends with a joyful grin. “I’d spent my whole life in the closet, and I wasn’t planning on wasting any more time like that.”

             Raising a hand, Eddie sheepishly admits, “I was worse, to be honest.”

             “Oh, do tell,” Richie says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, cradling his own face in his palms. “Seriously, I need to know this. Go on, Eds. Paint me a word picture of how incredibly gay you were.”

             Eddie rolls his eyes and gives Richie an unimpressed look, but before he can reply, Beverly answers for him. “He bought, like, fourteen pride shirts online,” she states matter-of-factly, “and refused to wear anything else for the first four months we were here. He also started wearing those skinny jeans, remember? The ones that looked like they were painted on?” Richie lets out a loud laugh and nods, thinking about the first time he’d seen Eddie in those jeans and how he was sure the boy was naked due to how skin-tight they were. “Even straight dudes were flirting with him, that’s how much of a chaotic gay he was.”

             Releasing a low whistle, Richie wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie and sing-songs, “I can picture it now: eighteen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak, using that cute ass of his to get the attention of all the guys. Did you break any hearts? I have a feeling you were a huge heartbreaker when you turned those poor dudes down.”

             “Not really,” Eddie shrugs, but a hint of a blush crawls up his neck and spreads across his face. Richie feels his eyebrows rise, intrigued, as Eddie says, “I didn’t really… turn anyone down, back then. I do now, but during that first year...”

             Richie is almost ashamed of how long it takes for the meaning of those words to dawn on him, leaving him with his lips parted in genuine shock and a bit of disbelief. He lets out a half-hearted _oh_ once he’s managed to close his mouth, and for a moment his mind wanders to a place that makes his heart rate spike before he forcefully shoves the thoughts away. “Well,” he starts, glancing away from Eddie to scan the room in a way he hopes looks casual. “After eighteen years of nothing, you deserved to get some. I’m actually proud as hell right now. No joke, I think I could cry.”

             Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t seem to catch onto the way Richie is now uncontrollably fidgeting, his fingers twisting together in his lap, brows pinched as he has an unexpected war with his own mind. “You’re disgusting,” Eddie states, a chuckle mixing into his words.

             “I’m not disgusting,” Richie shakes his head, both to deny the statement and to help clear out the thoughts that keep trying to invade his brain. “I’m being serious! Like, I thought you and Bev were getting down and dirty, but that obviously wasn’t true. You went eighteen years with nothing but your own little hands, then you spent a year getting dicked down?” He winks dramatically, conveying the joking tone he usually doesn’t have to try so hard to achieve, and concludes, “If anyone deserved that much dicking, it was you, Eds.”

             Laughing incredulously, Eddie shoves at Richie’s shoulder and exclaims, “Shut up! You’re gross, Tozier. Drop it.”

             “Fine, fine,” Richie relents with faux reluctance, though inwardly he’s overjoyed to have the subject changed – he doesn’t know what, exactly, is wrong with him right now, but he just wants it to stop. “Consider it dropped, my dear Edwardo.”

             Before Eddie can complain about the name, Valery intervenes with a simple, “What about you, Richie?”

             Richie blinks. “What _about_ me?”

             “Your romantic life,” she elaborates. “Or your sex life, whatever.”

             He wishes, suddenly, that he hadn’t let the subject drop so quickly. Pointedly avoiding everyone else’s gazes, his goes to wet his lips and swallows the lump forming in his throat, brows now drawn closer together. “There’s not much to say,” he answers simply, but it’s obvious that he’s holding something back, even to himself. Taking a moment to inhale deeply, wiping his clammy palms against the material of his sweatpants, he tells them, “I just… haven’t had time, y’know? Not for a relationship, or hookups, or anything like that.”

             “I thought you had a girlfriend,” Beverly points out, frowning. “We met her when we went to visit you over summer. Marissa, right? She seemed cool.”

             Marissa _was_ cool. She was kind and generous and funny, able to take a joke and dish it out without a moment of hesitation. When Richie told her about his childhood, being sure to scoot around the things he didn’t want her to know yet, she was understanding and never pressed for details, instead smiling and holding his hand (she held his hand like Beverly and Valery hold hands, but he clutched onto her like Eddie and Beverly – afraid, terrified, relying on her to make him feel strong, but what was there to be so scared of?) and talking to him about the things he was willing to share. They spent a lot of time watching movies and listening to music and coming up with inside jokes to drive their group of friends crazy.

             He remembers the day that they ended things, though – remembers how surprisingly calm it had been, considering the circumstances.

             It was on their one year anniversary, and Richie had tried to think of something to do for her. He spent so long pondering over his options, unsure what was too much, what wasn’t enough. By the time she showed up at his apartment for dinner, he still didn’t have anything prepared, something he tried profusely to apologize for, but she wasn’t upset. She merely smiled, sat down, held his hand, and said, “I don’t think we’re supposed to be together, Rich.”

             For a moment, he thought he should fight back, try to save their relationship, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. She was right, and he knew it – he just couldn’t figure out why. Eventually, he nodded and replied, “Okay,” and that was it. They still ate dinner together, they still watched movies and listened to music and annoyed their friends with jokes no one else understood, but they stopped holding hands and sharing kisses. Oddly, it hadn’t felt like a breakup at all, just another hint towards this thing that’s been bugging him since he was sixteen.

             This thing, of which he still has yet to understand, is also why he felt like he knew Bev and Eddie were never together, why his thoughts wander to such strange places. This thing is perhaps his greatest secret – a secret so great that even he doesn’t know what it is.

             “Marissa‘s amazing,” he finally says, blinking slowly as he tries to focus back in on the conversation. “We were just both busy and didn’t really fit as a couple, y’know? We’re still really good friends, though.” Then, pushing himself to his feet, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder and announces, “I’m gonna go shower.”

             In his wake, Beverly and Eddie share a look that is twisted in both confusion and worry, but neither of them make a move to stop him.

 

 

 

 

             That night, as Richie is setting up a pillow and blanket on the sofa (much to Eddie’s dismay, but they agreed on taking turns with the bed, so he lets it slide), Eddie finds himself saying, “I had a boyfriend, a little over a year ago.”

             Richie freezes for only a moment before asking, “You did?”

             “Yeah,” Eddie breathes, leaning against the wall across the room, arms crossed over his chest as he warily eyes his best friend. Richie came out of the shower earlier good as new, acting as though nothing had ever happened, and while Eddie is glad to see Richie as happy and jokey as usual, he can’t help but feel uneasy. “It killed me not being able to tell you about him, especially since you had a habit of calling me while I was with him and I had to lie about where I was or what I was doing.”

             “Stan always says that I have a skill at calling at the worst time,” Richie says, biting back a grin. He throws Eddie an amused look and adds, “Did I ever tell you about the time I called him while him and Patty were–”

             Holding up a hand, Eddie interrupts and begs, “Please, for the love of god, do not finish that sentence.”

             Letting out a laugh, Richie winks and says, “Fine, I won’t tell you. It was pretty kinky, though.”

             “Oh, my god,” Eddie whines, covering his face with his hands, which only causes Richie to laugh harder. Rolling his eyes, Eddie peeks between his fingers and, unable to deny his curiosity, asks, “How kinky?”

             Sporting a full-on smirk, Richie answers, “Bill was there.”

             “Oh, my _god!”_ Eddie repeats, this time higher pitched and slightly horrified, sending Richie into such a heavy fit of laughter that he collapses onto the sofa with his blanket still clutched in his hands. He shakes his head fervently, as if that will somehow rid himself of the images infiltrating his brain. “Are you even allowed to tell anyone that? There’s no way Stan would agree to you just blabbing about it!”

             “No, of course not,” Richie says simply. “But you’re Eddie. My secrets are your secrets. What I know, you know. That’s common knowledge by now.”

             Hands falling to dangle at his sides, Eddie takes a moment to gnaw on his lower lip before pointing out, “But not Marissa. I didn’t know about that.” He says it tentatively, almost afraid to push the wrong button, knowing that it’s hypocritical of him to press this subject when he lied to Richie for years.

             Richie hums low in his throat. “You’re right,” he agrees. “You didn’t know about that.”

             “Why?” Eddie asks. “You tell me _everything_ , Rich. Literally everything, so why didn’t you tell me about you guys breaking up?”

             Slowly, Richie replies, “There’s more to it than just a break up, I think. Or, maybe- maybe there’s less to it? I don’t… I don’t know. We act the same now as we did when we were dating, we just don’t kiss or hold hands anymore.” He pauses, frowning as he tries to piece together a coherent sentence out of his incoherent thoughts. “There wasn’t a big change. It was like we were never really a couple, like we were just friends who sometimes did more-than-friends stuff. I mean, we never even…” he gestures vaguely, nose scrunched up on his face, “…y’know? And, like, I know that sex isn’t a defining factor in a relationship, but we were together for a year and never even talked about it. It was like some kind of forbidden subject that couldn’t be breached, or something.” Looking back up to meet Eddie’s gaze, he meekly asks, “Does that make sense?”

             “It does,” Eddie assures, walking forward to sit next to Richie on the couch, head cocked to the side. He takes a moment to ponder what to say next, eventually settling on, “That sounds a lot like Bev and I, actually. I mean, it’s obviously different, because we were never dating in the first place, but when we had to kiss and act like a couple at school… that’s what it felt like. As for the sex part of things, maybe that’s because you guys were just better off as friends and you knew that doing that was something you didn’t really want.”

             Richie falters, twisting his fingers into the material of the blanket still draped over his lap as he casts his gaze to the ground. Eddie’s words play on repeat in his head, and the more he thinks about it, the more he can see the similarities between how Bev and Eddie acted as a fake couple, and how him and Marissa acted as a supposedly real one. The implications of that alone send his heart leaping to his throat, so he merely shrugs and says, “Tell me about that boyfriend of yours. What happened with him?”

             It’s obvious that he’s just trying to change the subject, but Eddie decides to let it slide as he leans back with a huff. “His name was Dylan,” he starts, his gaze focused on the wall, brows pinched together. “We became friends when Bev and I first moved here, ‘cause he lived in the dorm across the hall from me. We weren’t really close or anything, but both of us hated our roommates because they always brought girls over and kicked us out of our own rooms, y’know? After finding each other waiting out in the hallway a few times, we made a deal to let the other person stay in our dorm when we got locked out, or to just keep each other company on nights where we were both stuck in the hall. This was during that first year, when I was getting dicked down, as you put it–”

             Richie chokes on a laugh that isn’t really a laugh; a laugh that almost burns as it bubbles from somewhere within his chest.

             “–and he saw me going home with all these guys,” Eddie goes on, not noticing the fact that Richie’s reaction is so painfully forced, “so he didn’t make a move for a while, thinking that I didn’t want a relationship. Which, I mean… he wasn’t _wrong_. I think I needed that year, you know? I was so used to pretending I was dating Bev and never had the chance to really be with someone, and I needed that time to figure my shit out before I could try a real relationship.” He smiles softly as he recalls these memories, but there’s a bitterness in the back of his mouth as he realizes that he’ll have to tell Richie where it all went wrong. “About a month into our second year, we were still friends, but Bev and I had moved here over summer so we didn’t have that excuse to see each other so often. That was when we really started hanging out, going to dinner and meeting up for coffee and going to the library to study and shit. He officially asked me out about halfway through that quarter, and it made sense to me, dating someone I already got along with, so I said yes.”

             There’s an odd twisting sensation in Richie’s gut, uncomfortable and unpleasant, sending small shivers up and down his spine. He feels like he might throw up, but he has no clue why, so he just swallows roughly and keeps his eyes trained to the floor as he listens.

             “He was incredible,” Eddie continues, shaking his head slightly to himself as his mind begins to wander. “Pretty much the perfect first boyfriend, I think. He was patient and encouraging and funny, but he never really…” He trails off, frowning as he tries to think of the right words. “He never really _got_ me, you know? Like, when I refused to take a shower at his place because I didn’t have all the stuff I use for my shower routine, he didn’t understand why it was so important to me. He tried to, he honest to god tried, but I could see it in his eyes, Rich. I could tell that he didn’t get it, no matter how hard I tried to explain it to him. It was things like that, things I did that he didn’t understand, and it really got to me. I’ve only been around you losers before, and you guys know me so well that it was overwhelming trying to be so intimate with someone who didn’t already know me like you guys do. And it was different when I was just sleeping with people, because it was physical intimacy, but with him it was more than that, right? It was- it was trust, and honesty, and all these other forms of intimacy that I’ve only ever had with you guys.” Stopping suddenly, Eddie takes in a deep, shaky breath, and shakes his head again, this time in shame. “I couldn’t handle trying to trust someone else, so I ended it a few months in. I haven’t talked to him since.”

             Richie isn’t sure how to respond to this, so he opts to silently wrap an arm around Eddie instead, pulling him into a gentle side-hug. Eddie lets out a content sigh, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder and melting into the touch, allowing the silence to settle over them comfortably. After a few minutes of this, Richie turns his head and presses a sweet kiss to Eddie’s forehead, murmuring against the skin there when he says, “That’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

             Shrugging one shoulder half-heartedly, Eddie replies, “I guess, but I still feel like shit about it.”

             “Don’t,” Richie states simply, turning his head to the side to rest his cheek atop Eddie’s hair. “I know that’s easier said than done, but I’m being serious. There was no way you could have guessed you’d feel like that, so there was no way you could have prevented it. If anything, you should be proud of yourself for ending it before you guys got too serious instead of trying to keep dating him after figuring out the way you felt. Hell, _I’m_ proud of you for that, Eds.”

             Eddie smiles fondly and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t say much. You said you were proud of me when I got up to take a piss earlier.”

             “Hey!” Richie defends, but he can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles from the center of his chest and spills past his lips as he speaks. “Standing up can be hard as fuck, and walking is even worse, so getting up to go to the bathroom is something to be proud of, thank you very much!” He waits a moment to get his giggles out before sobering up, taking a deep breath as he sincerely adds, “I meant it, though, okay? I meant it then, and I mean it now, and I’ll mean it every other time I say it: I’m really fucking proud of you, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

             “That’s sweet and all,” Eddie says, sporting a bashful grin, a rosy blush rising on his cheeks, “but I’m about to fall asleep on you, so…”

             Chuckling, Richie nods and lets Eddie stand, holding his hands out in front of him when Eddie teeters on his feet, prepared to help him regain balance if need be. Thankfully, Eddie manages to stay upright and stifles a yawn with his palm as he makes his way down the hall, only looking back when Richie calls out a goodnight.

 

 

 

 

             When Richie wakes up, there’s a heavy silence settled over the apartment. He blinks slowly, having to squint through the brightness of the sunlight shining through the window by the TV, and tries to glance around, wondering what time it is. After a moment, he pushes himself to a sitting position, the blanket draped over him falling to his hips as he does so, and reaches over to grab his glasses off the coffee table. Once he’s shoved them on his face, he looks around again, this time able to confirm to himself that there is no one else in the room.

             He gives himself a couple minutes to let himself wake up more, rubbing tiredly at his eyes and stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn, before getting to his feet. Curious, he first checks the kitchen for any sign of life, only to come up empty handed. This repeats when he checks the bathroom and the bedrooms, and he finds himself sitting back on the couch with a huff, plucking his phone off the coffee table to see if anyone texted him to tell them where they were going. When he grabs his phone, though, he notices a slip of paper resting besides it and picks it up curiously, an involuntary smile forming on his face at the familiar scrawl across the surface.

 _Bev and Val are doing some last minute Christmas shopping_ , the note says. _I can’t cook for shit, so I went to get breakfast. Be back soon! -Eddie_

             Settling back against the sofa cushions, he decides to watch TV to pass the time, flipping through the channels until he lands on a Friends rerun. Absentmindedly, he plays with his phone, glancing at the few notifications from his parents (mostly curiosities to his absence, wondering if he’ll be coming home for Christmas, and asking if he has any spare cash that they could use) before swiping them all away, knowing better than to fall for their blatant manipulation. He isn’t paying attention to the time as it ticks away, too enraptured in half-listening to the episode where Chandler and Monica get married while he goes back and forth from texting Mike about radio stations in Seattle that he can apply to work for next year, and spamming Ben, Stan, and Bill with whatever weird picture he can find on his camera roll. It’s twenty minutes into this that the sound of the door opening draws his attention, and Eddie walks in with a tray of drinks in one hand, a paper bag in the other, and his phone held between his shoulder and his ear.

             “I know, Ma,” he sighs out, giving Richie a small smile in greeting as he hip-checks the door to make it swing shut. “I know, but Bev and I had school stuff to take care of. We couldn’t cancel, honest. No, trust me, I tried to talk my way out of it, but the people at NYU are strict. What? Of course I’m not lying!” As he says this, he rolls his eyes and mouths, _I’m totally lying,_ to Richie, who has to cover his face with his palms to suppress the giggles that threaten to bubble past his lips. Eddie slides the drink tray onto the coffee table, setting the bag next to it, and grabs his phone with one of his now free hands. “Hey, listen, Ma? I have to go. Yeah, I promise I’ll call you tonight. And later this week. And on Christmas. I know, I will. Okay. Okay, yeah. Love you, too. Bye.”

             Richie waits until Eddie hangs up the phone before dropping his hands and letting out a low whistle. “Let me guess: she’s not happy that you’re staying in New York for the holidays?”

             Letting out an annoyed huff, Eddie sits next to Richie on the sofa and solemnly shakes his head. “Of course not. She thinks I’m losing myself because I never come home, like I’m just gonna slowly deteriorate if I’m not in Maine. Jesus, imagine how she’ll react when I tell her I’m moving to Seattle after graduation.” He leans forward to grab the remote and turn the volume on the TV up slightly. “What about your parents? They upset?” As he asks, he grabs the two drinks from the tray and hands one to Richie. Upon receiving a curious look, Eddie says, “It’s a white chocolate mocha. That’s still your favorite, right?”

             “It is, yeah,” Richie grins, giving himself a moment to take a sip of the drink. He lets out a content sigh, relaxing further into the sofa cushions, and answers Eddie’s first question with a half-hearted shrug. “You know how my folks are,” he says simply, his fingers toying with the edges of the sleeve on his coffee cup. “They asked if I was coming home, and then they asked if they could borrow money. I haven’t answered, but when I tell them no, I’m pretty sure they’ll be more upset about not getting cash than about me not being there.”

             Eddie’s eyebrows pinch together sadly, but he doesn’t try to press the subject, knowing that Richie will come to him to talk about it if and when he needs to. Instead, he gestures to the bag still perched atop the coffee table and tells Richie, “I couldn’t figure out what kind of food to get, so I just got us some blueberry muffins. They’re not super filling, I know, but I figured we can just go out for a nice lunch later to make up for a shitty breakfast.”

             “Shitty breakfast? Dude, I _love_ blueberry muffins,” Richie points out, reaching forward to set his coffee on the table and take the muffins out of the bag, handing one to Eddie before taking the wrapper off his own. He takes a disgustingly large bite out of it and, around the mouthful of food, he says, “I’ll take you up on that lunch date, though. I haven’t left your apartment since I got here and I think I’m suffocating on all the gay shit.”

             Snorting, Eddie smacks Richie on the shoulder and scolds, “Don’t talk with your mouth full! That’s fucking disgusting!” Richie has to press a palm over his mouth to keep crumbs from spraying everywhere as he chortles, to which Eddie just rolls his eyes. “And, by the way, calling it a lunch date? That’s pretty gay, Rich. I think you’d just suffocate even _more_ on gay shit if it were a lunch date.”

             Richie offers a shit-eating grin, but doesn’t try to respond, aware that Eddie will actually yell at him if he tries to keep talking while his cheeks are stuffed with food.

             “Speaking of gay shit, though,” Eddie says suddenly, all amusement gone from his features as he plays with the wrapper on his muffin. Richie feels his eyebrows twitch up, intrigued. “Bev and I were talking before her and Val left, about how we haven’t told anyone else the truth about us, y’know? And we know we can’t keep lying to the rest of the losers, but we don’t want to tell them over the phone or anything. Knowing us, we’d probably get scared and hang up or something, so…” He trails off, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, before finishing, “We invited them up for New Years, and we’re gonna tell them then. Hopefully, since you’ll be there, you can keep us from backing out last minute.”

             A strong sense of pride washes over Richie’s chest, warm and tingly, as he finally swallows the food in his mouth and replies, “Of course I will!” He wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him closer, ruffling his hair and chuckling as he protests. “I’ll even hold your hand, if you want.”

             Eddie scoffs, but his lips twitch into a wide smile as he leans into Richie’s side. “First calling it a lunch date, and now you’re trying to hold my hand? You sure you’re not gay, too?”

             “Only for you, Spaghetti Man.” Richie winks and puckers his lips, making loud kissy noises as he leans towards Eddie.

             “Fuck off!” Eddie complains, pushing Richie’s face away from him with a loud laugh. “Jesus, have you even brushed your teeth yet? Get away from me!”

             Richie lets himself be pushed away, pouting dramatically, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Is that your only complaint? That I haven’t brushed my teeth? Is that the only reason you don’t want me smoochin’ all over you?”

             “Oh, my god,” Eddie groans, tossing his forgotten muffin onto the coffee table before burying his face in his hands. “Don’t flatter yourself, Richie.”

             “Is that a no?” Richie asks smugly, tightening his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “That doesn’t sound like a no. Do you want some of the Tozier love? You know, if you really want it, I’d be happy to oblige. I mean, people say I have a magic mouth, and that applies to more than the voices I do.” He can barely contain his childish giggles as he spouts out these words, nudging Eddie every few seconds while he speaks.

             Eddie lifts his head and gives Richie a deadpan look. “A magic mouth? Really? Is that your attempt to woo me?”

             “Yes,” Richie answers as seriously as he can manage, though his laughter is impossible to contain. “Is it working?”

             “Not even a little bit,” Eddie retorts.

             Richie lurches back with a forced gasp, placing a hand over his heart. “Ouch! I can’t believe I was just rejected about my own best friend! That _hurts_ , Eddie. Seriously, I’m fatally wounded. I think I might die.”

             There’s a moment where Eddie seems to contemplate this, head cocked slightly to the side and brows pinched together in thought. Richie’s laughter slowly tapers off as he watches him, confused by the sudden silence, until Eddie meets his gaze and states, “Alright, Trashmouth. Show me what you can do.”

             All air leaves Richie’s lungs in the span of two seconds, his eyes going wide as he subconsciously leans back a bit, heart racing in his chest. There’s not a single coherent thought in his head, just a jumbled mess of words that make no sense, along with a mixture of _holy shit, oh my god,_ and _what the fuck._ He isn’t sure how to react, if he should try and laugh it off or what, but he’s mildly shocked to find that the idea doesn’t sound too bad. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, it sounds like it could be… kind of nice?

             This realization makes him forget how to breathe.

             “W-What?” He finally manages to choke out, unable to form another word.

             Eddie breaks into a wide, teasing grin as he lets out a hearty laugh. “Dude, I’m kidding!” Richie sucks in a harsh breath, forcing himself to look away as he tries to will his heart beat back to a normal speed. Eddie keeps laughing, apparently thoroughly amused with the reaction he’d received – which, in retrospect, must have been entertaining due to the fact that he couldn’t see the chaotic spur of thoughts inside Richie’s head. “Jesus, Rich, I knew you were straight, but you looked fucking terrified for a second! Is the idea of being with a man really that bad?”

             _I am terrified,_ Richie thinks, _but I don’t think I know why._ “No,” he says instead, shaking his head to try and clear his mind. “No, of course not. You just caught me off guard.” He pauses to clear his throat and checks the time on his phone, trying to ignore the panicky feeling tingling at the base of his spine. “We should probably leave for lunch at around noon, right? Does that sound good?”

             “Yeah, that sounds fine,” Eddie agrees, happily munching on his muffin, which he must have picked back up while Richie was lost in his head. “What time is it now?”

             “Almost ten-thirty.” Richie pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the way his hands are shaking. “I think I’m gonna take a shower. Do you need to use the bathroom?”

             Eddie looks up at him then, curious. “No, I’m good. Didn’t you take one yesterday, though? Since when do you shower every day?” Richie just shrugs, tossing his phone onto the coffee table as he makes his way across the room, disappearing into the bathroom without a word. Eddie stares after him, a slight frown on his face, but decides to drop it for the time being as he turns to the TV to keep watching Friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boop boop, enjoy! next chapter will be up monday!

             Their lunch goes by in a breeze, thanks to Richie trying his best to act like he normally does and Eddie pretending not to notice his abnormal behavior. They talk about anything and everything that comes to mind, whether it be movies or plans for the following two and a half weeks, and by the time they leave the restaurant they were eating at, Richie can’t remember what was wrong in the first place. Eddie leads them down the street and points out some of his favorite shops, even dragging Richie into a thrift store on the corner of the block to show him the wide range of vintage things they have.

             Overall, they have a blast. By the time they make their way back to the apartment, Richie feels good as new, any lingering panic or confusion from before being replaced with the joy of being with his best friend.

             It isn’t until later, after he’s retreated to Eddie’s room to use the bed for the night, that the thoughts start creeping into his head again, this time when he’s far too tired to try and push them away. It starts with an odd little sensation, feeling like a weight settling on his chest, causing his heart to pick up speed, his breath getting caught in his throat. He turns over, pulling the blanket closer to him, until his face is buried beneath it and he can’t see his surroundings, can’t hear anything other than his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

             _You were thinking about it,_ a nagging voice whispers in the back of his mind, reminding him of what he spent hours trying to forget. _You were thinking about Eddie. You were thinking about kissing him._

_You were thinking about a lot more than just kissing him._

             Richie frowns and shakes his head, as if that will somehow get rid of the intrusive thoughts _. I wasn’t thinking about it,_ he argues with himself, feeling slightly insane as he does so. _I just realized that the idea wasn’t awful. That doesn’t mean anything._

            Even as he thinks it, he can tell it’s a huge lie.

             With a soft sigh, he rolls over again, this time settling on his back as he pushes the blanket off his face and stares up at the ceiling. It _does_ mean something, that much he’s aware of (even though he wishes he could keep denying it), but what, exactly, does it mean? Is he still adjusting to the knowledge that Eddie is gay? That’s a possibility, isn’t it? After all, he’d spent the last sixteen years of their friendship thinking otherwise, so it’d make sense for his brain to be scrambling with strange thoughts in reaction, wouldn’t it?

             Maybe that’s potentially true, but Richie knows it doesn’t apply to him. Even if he was dealing with that kind of reeling reaction, he wouldn’t be thinking about kissing his best friend. So what is this? What’s going on with him?

             Giving up on getting a good night’s sleep, he rolls out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen to get a glass of water, making sure to keep his footsteps light when he passes by Eddie’s sleeping figure on the couch. There’s a moment where he wants to look back and soak in how relaxed Eddie looks in his sleep, his features soft and his lips parted, but he (barely) resists the urge. Instead, he rushes through the entryway and makes a beeline to the cupboard, taking out a cup as quietly as he can and filling it to the rim with cool water. He’s so busy gulping down his drink that he doesn’t notice Beverly’s walked in until she says, “Jesus, Richie, how thirsty are you?”

             He chokes on the water, setting the glass on the counter and hitting his chest with his fist as he starts to cough into his palm, spinning around to look at Beverly as she watches him in amusement.

             “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologizes, closing the space between them to rub his back as he continues to cough, but there’s a chuckle in her words to show that she’s not as sorry as she says she is. After a few minutes of this, he finally manages to get his hacking under control and withdraws his hand. Beverly watches him curiously, waiting until he’s caught his breath before asking, “What’re you doing up?”

             Taking a much more careful sip of water, Richie shrugs one shoulder and answers, “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

             She leans against the counter next to him, arms crossed over her chest. “Val moves a lot in her sleep, so she just kicked me in the side and woke me up. I figured I’d get a snack before going back to bed.” Richie hums half-heartedly, staring down into the cup with his brows pinched together. He can’t keep the chaotic mess of thoughts out of his mind no matter how hard he tries. Seeing the strange look on his face, Beverly cocks her head to the side and gingerly questions, “What’s on your mind?”

             For a moment, he considers lying, but this is Beverly Marsh, for crying out loud. When they were twelve-years-old, the two of them confided in one another about their home lives and hiked through the woods around the Quarry for hours, telling stories of things their parents had done. When they were thirteen, they met gazes across the circle of the rest of the losers while they made the blood oath, a piece of paper placed in the center of the seven of them whilst they held each others hands and promised to follow each of the rules listed. When they were fourteen, they found a small clearing in the barrens, so far from Derry that they knew no one else was aware of its existence, and declared it their own space – a space where Richie and Beverly could be Richie and Beverly, and no one could interfere.

             Right now, this is a Richie and Beverly moment, and no one can interfere.

             “When did you realize you were a lesbian?”

             Beverly blinks at the sudden question, eyebrows twitching up in surprise. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting this, but then something akin to understanding flashes in her eyes and she smiles, pondering her answer. “I think,” she tells him, “I realized it when we kissed.”

             Richie scrunches his nose and gives her an uncertain look. “We kissed when we were, like, eleven, Bev. And we both regretted it as soon as it happened.”

             “Then I realized it when I was eleven,” Beverly shrugs. “And it wasn’t because it was a bad kiss, even though you were horrible at it–” he makes a noise of offense, to which she just grins, “–but I remember thinking about how much nicer it would have been to kiss Greta Bowie, because her lips looked so much softer and prettier than yours. Maybe I didn’t know I was a lesbian back then, but I definitely knew that I liked the thought of girls better than boys.”

             “First of all, I’m offended that you thought Greta fucking Bowie had prettier lips than me,” Richie states, shaking his head with a frown. “Second of all, how did you, like… How did you _know?”_

             Letting out a long breath, Beverly takes a moment to think about his question, gaze wandering around the room slowly as she does so. The only sound filling the space is their own breathing mixed with Eddie’s soft snores filtering in from the living room, which helps to ease Richie’s nerves as he waits for her to respond. Eventually, after a minute or two, she says, “I think I knew for sure when I didn’t like Ben or Bill.” Richie frowns, confused, leading her to explain, “They’re both great guys, you know? Not that the rest of you aren’t great, but you and Stan are like brothers to me, and Eddie and Mike were clearly never interested in me as more than a friend so I never considered them that way, either. But when we were younger, Ben and Bill both had really obvious crushes on me, remember? And there was no reason for me _not_ to like them, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any romantic feelings for them. And it kind of dawned on me that if I didn’t like them then I must not like boys at all, ‘cause there’s no way I’d ever find a boy better for me than those two.”

             “Huh.” Richie purses his lips, his head angled towards the floor as he runs her words over and over in his head. It makes sense, the way she worded it, and he finds that he can understand exactly where she’s coming from. Under his breath, almost afraid to admit it out loud, he says, “I think Marissa is perfect for me.”

             “But you don’t like her as more than a friend,” Beverly states knowingly. “That’s why you guys didn’t work, right? There’s no romance there.”

             Richie nods stiffly, gnawing on his lower lip. “I told Eddie yesterday that it felt like we were never dating,” he elaborates. “Like… Like we were just friends who occasionally kissed and held hands. I just thought we were a weird couple, but when she broke up with me, it didn’t even feel like a break up. It felt like we just agreed to stop pretending to like each other and went back to being regular friends.”

             Beverly reaches over and grabs his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “I’m gonna ask you a question, Richie,” she murmurs, her tone gentle and warm, “and I want you to be completely honest when you answer it. Is that okay?”

             “Yeah,” he breathes, swallowing thickly. He has a feeling he knows exactly what she’s going to ask. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

             She uses her free hand to tilt his head up and maintains eye contact with him, her gaze kind and understanding. “Do you think you’re gay?”

             This is his last opportunity to back out of the conversation, to deny everything he’s admitted to so far and turn it into some kind of elaborate joke, but he doesn’t do that. Instead, he lets his eyes flutter shut and answers, “I know I’m attracted to girls, because I’ve had a lot of genuine crushes on them before, but I don’t… I don’t think I’m straight, Bev. And I don’t think I’m meant to fall in love with a girl.”

             As soon as the words are out of his mouth, she pulls him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He lets out a shaky breath and lets his head fall to her shoulder, seeking comfort in her embrace as she sways them slowly from side to side, knowing that the rocking motion helps him relax. “You don’t have to know anything for sure,” she whispers to him. “You don’t even have to label yourself if you don’t want to, okay? Just know that I’m proud of you.”

             “Thank you,” he mumbles, his lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.

             “No need to thank me, Trashmouth,” she says with a low chuckle, ruffling up his hair as she pulls away. “You know I love the fuck out of you.”

             His smile grows into a large shit-eating grin as he shoves at her shoulder, causing her to punch him lightly in the arm in retaliation. This leads to a play-fight, consisting of slaps that are too light to do real damage and pinches to each other’s sides, feeling like little kids as they giggle uncontrollably. It isn’t until Beverly releases a shriek that’s a little too loud for the dead of night that they finally stop, though they’re still laughing lightly under their breath when they separate.

             Stealing Richie’s glass of water, Beverly takes a sip and asks, “What brought this up, if you don’t mind me asking? Like, what made you realize you might be into guys?”

             “Honestly?” Richie snatches his water back, rolling his eyes at her as she scoffs, and answers, “Eddie did. I don’t really understand how or why, but… we were joking around earlier and he said something about me showing him what I can do, and I realized it didn’t sound too bad.” He shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink before setting the cup onto the counter, sighing. “I don’t know. I think I always had this weird feeling, ever since we were younger, and I just never really knew what it was. Now I’m starting to figure it out.”

             Beverly hums thoughtfully. “Did he tell you about Dylan?” Richie freezes, then slowly nods, his gaze flickering to her curiously, wondering why she’s mentioning Eddie’s ex-boyfriend at a time like this. She grins at him and says, “He was _a lot_ like you, Rich. Similar sense of humor, similar way of speaking, similar outlandish wardrobe that should be ugly but somehow works. Eddie never saw it when I pointed it out to him, but Dylan was just like you, if you were a little shorter and exercised more than once a month.”

             “Okay, rude,” Richie bites instinctively, only to immediately falter as what she said processes in his mind. He frowns, head tilting to the side in confusion. “Wait- what do you mean?”

             “Nothing,” Beverly smirks, raising her hands as a sign of surrender as she pushes off the counter and slowly makes her way across the kitchen. Once she reaches the entryway leading to the living room, she turns around and instructs, “Just think about that for a bit. Goodnight, Richie.” Then, with a cheeky wink, she disappears.

             When Richie finally goes back to bed, he finds himself pondering her words, but he falls asleep before he can understand the truth behind them.

 

 

 

 

             Despite the fact that it’ll only be the three of them on Christmas (Val is going over to New Jersey to stay with her folks for a week before coming back for New Year), Beverly and Eddie still insist on decorating the apartment. Not just a few holiday themed things thrown about here and there, but full out decking every square inch of the place in tacky snowman and reindeer and Christmas lights.

             Of course, Richie is on board. Until he’s assigned the job of dragging the damn tree inside, that is.

             “I really don’t see how this is fair,” he huffs in annoyance, a childish pout on his lips as he hopelessly grasps at the net around the tree, trying to pull it behind him as he maneuvers down the hallway. He pauses, looking over his shoulder to glare at Eddie, who’s leaning against the doorway ten feet away with an amused grin, and states, “You’re an asshole, Kaspbrak.”

             Eddie shrugs and chirps, “You’re almost there,” before spinning around and making his way inside, leaving Richie to let out a frustrated groan as he turns back towards the tree at his feet. This wouldn’t be such a problem if Beverly had been okay with getting a normal sized tree for their medium sized apartment, but she was dead set on this particular one – a tree so ridiculously wide that it looks gigantic, even though it’s just barely past six feet, only a few inches taller than Richie. It’s in its width, however, that it holds all this weight, which is why it’s so difficult to drag down the hall by himself.

             After fifteen minutes of whining and complaining, he finally manages to get it inside and shut the apartment door, immediately throwing his hands up in victory once he hears the lock click into place. “I did it!” he calls out joyously, his breathing heavy and uneven. After a moment, his arms fall and he hunches over, palms to his knees as he heaves, trying to catch his breath. “Jesus, that fucking sucked.”

             “You sound like you’re dying,” Eddie muses, though there’s a lilt of concern to his voice as he rubs gentle circles into Richie’s back. “If you really needed help, you could have just said you weren’t joking and I would have–”

             “It’s fine,” Richie interrupts, slowly straightening once his lungs are no longer aching for air. “I’m just ridiculously out of shape.” He gives Eddie a large smile, one that’s both grateful and reassuring, before kicking gently at the tree on the ground and saying, “Well, what’re you standing there for? Let’s set this bad boy up before Bev yells at us for being too slow.”

             From the kitchen, Beverly shouts, “Don’t be a shithead, Tozier!”

             Richie snickers and replies, “Sorry, Mom!”

             “Stop calling me Mom,” she tells him, making her way into the living room with a disapproving frown on her features. “We’re like siblings. I’m not your mother.” Before Richie can come up with a response, she turns to Eddie with her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “Stop letting Richie distract you. I want that tree up by the time dinner’s done, so we can decorate it after we eat. Got it?”

             Grinning cheekily, Eddie nods and says, “Yes, Mom.”

             She grimaces at him, but there’s an amused glint in her eyes. “Neither of you are my sons, but both of you will be dead to me if you don’t have the tree up and ready to be decorated in–” she makes a show of checking her nonexistent watch, “–ten minutes. Chop, chop!” She claps her hands together to emphasize her words and scurries back into the kitchen.

             There are many jokes that Richie wants to say in this moment, a wide range of options that would be sure to send his friends into fits of laughter, but instead he just turns to the tree and gets to work on pulling the netting off. He doesn’t think it’s much of a big deal, to say nothing when there’s an opportunity to do otherwise, but it’s apparently strange enough to catch Eddie’s attention, as he eyes Richie curiously and asks, “You feeling alright?”

             “Hm?” Richie hums, glancing up at Eddie briefly before putting his attention back to the task at hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

             Eddie shrugs, kneeling down next to Richie to help in unknotting the netting from the trunk of the tree. “You just seem a little off, I guess.”

             “I’m good, Eds,” Richie promises, flashing Eddie a genuine smile as they finally manage to get the last of the net off. He leans back and nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “Honestly, I’m just really excited about decorating the tree. I’ve never done it before, so–”

             “What?!” Eddie interrupts, looking up at Richie in shock. “You’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before? How do I not know that?!”

             This time, it’s Richie who shrugs, feeling a little bashful as he meekly replies, “I told you a long time ago that my folks don’t really celebrate the holidays. Their idea of getting in the Christmas spirit is putting Frank Sinatra on repeat, buying themselves expensive liquor, and yelling at me, y’know? Trees just… haven’t been a thing in my house.” He pauses to shake his head slightly, pushing away the bittersweet memories, grateful that he decided not to go home for Christmas this year. “I guess I assumed you already knew that, so I just never brought it up.”

             Eddie makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, almost offended. “If I knew that, I would have had you come to my house to decorate the tree with me when we were growing up!”

             “Yeah, well…” Richie trails off, at a loss for words as he imagines teenage Richie and Eddie putting up the pristine (and fake, thanks to Mrs. K) Christmas tree in Eddie’s old, vintage-style living room, moving with and around one another as soft music filters from Eddie’s dad’s old record player. Suddenly, he wishes he’d told Eddie about this long ago, just so that this image in his head could have been true. “Sorry, I guess. I really thought you knew.”

             “Don’t be sorry,” Eddie tells him, sitting back on his haunches with a wide grin. “I’m glad your first time decorating a tree is with me and Bev, honestly. Now, grab the stand–” he points to the plastic device sitting in the corner of the room, “–and bring it over here. We have approximately five minutes to get this baby up before Momma Bev bites our heads off.”

             Richie obliges, letting out a loud laugh when Beverly’s voice echoes from the kitchen, telling them to _never call me Momma Bev again!_

             It takes a lot of maneuvering, with Eddie giving Richie very specific instructions to make sure they don’t mess anything up, but eventually they back away from the tree in triumph, taking in it’s long branches and overall pleasing appearance proudly. Beverly calls them into the kitchen to make their plates while they’re admiring their success, and while Richie is initially ecstatic to eat, he falters as soon as he enters the kitchen, seeing a mischievous glint in Beverly’s eyes as she looks at them.

             “What?” Richie asks, cautiously, almost afraid of whatever she has planned. It’s been three days since their late night talk, and while she hasn’t brought anything up since then, she has given him looks that make him uneasy. It’s like she knows something he doesn’t – something that is probably painfully obvious, and she’s just waiting for him to realize it. “What is it?”

             Lips twitching into a smile, Beverly drags her eyes upward, settling somewhere above their heads. Eddie glances between her and Richie, confused, and slowly tilts his head back to follow her gaze, inhaling sharply once he realizes what it is she’s looking at. “Did you put up _mistletoe?”_

             Richie feels his heart stutter in his chest and copies Eddie’s actions, head snapping back to look at the plant taped clumsily to the ceiling. It looks ready to fall off at any moment, the adhesive on the tape already growing weak, but it’s still there. Smugly, Beverly answers, “Maybe.”

             “Val’s not here,” Eddie points out, exasperated. “You put up mistletoe while your girlfriend is gone. The only people in this apartment are a lesbian, a gay man, and a straight guy. Did you think this through? Like, at all?”

             Beverly shrugs, looking pleased with herself as she leans back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest casually. “I’ve kissed both of you before,” she points out, “and it’s a holiday tradition. Now, are you gonna lock lips or what? You know, I think I read somewhere that it’s bad luck if you don’t.”

             “That’s not even a little bit true,” Eddie deadpans, unamused, before turning to Richie, who’s still staring up at the mistletoe is some kind of mortified trance. “I think this is stupid, but it’s up to you, Rich.”

             _It’s up to me,_ Richie repeats in his head, swallowing dryly as he slowly lowers his gaze. He could kiss Eddie right now, something that he’s come to find sounds more and more appealing the longer he thinks about it, and now’s his chance to make it happen. But what does that mean, the fact that he wants this to happen so badly? Sure, he’s come to terms with the fact that he’s not as straight as he always assumed he was, but… but this is _Eddie._ Richie can’t have these feelings for Eddie, and Eddie will certainly never have these feelings for Richie.

             Unless…

             He recalls Beverly’s words about Eddie’s ex, about how him and Dylan are, apparently, very similar. That has to mean something, right? It _has_ to.

             “Okay,” he finally says, looking down at Eddie, who’s eyes widen slightly in shock, obviously not expecting Richie to agree to this. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beverly tense in anticipation, but he pays her no mind as he ponders his next move. Should he duck down, or would Eddie prefer getting on his tiptoes? Would it be weird to ask his preference at a time like this? He isn’t sure, but he really doesn’t want to mess it up. For all he knows, this may be the only chance he has to kiss Eddie – the opportunity may never arise again.

             It’s as he’s thinking this over that Eddie’s features melt into a wide grin, one that looks like a mixture of relieved, hopeful, and strained. “Very funny,” he chortles, shaking his head. Richie parts his lips to respond, ready to insist that he isn’t joking, but Eddie keeps talking before he’s able to. “If you put that Trashmouth near me, I’d lose my appetite,” he teases, reaching forward to shove at Richie’s shoulder.

             Richie thinks like he might be sick, but he just pushes the feeling away and fires back, “Only ‘cause you’d be hungry for this dick, Kaspbrak.” Eddie laughs, nose scrunching up in amused disgust, as Richie adds, “Who needs food when you’ve got Richie Tozier lying around, huh? I’m a five star meal and you fucking know it.”

             “In your dreams, asshole,” Eddie rolls his eyes, stepping away to get his food.

             Beverly comes up behind Richie while Eddie is distracted filling his bowl with pasta, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rich,” she murmurs to him, being sure to keep her voice soft enough that Eddie can’t hear her. There’s a guilty lilt to her tone, but there’s also confusion, like she can’t understand what just happened. Richie can’t blame her; he doesn’t really know what happened, either.

             “It’s fine,” he whispers back, offering a tight lipped smile that he knows looks just as forced as it feels. She doesn’t try and press him to talk more, mostly because Eddie is already turning back to look at them, but she does squeeze his shoulder comfortingly before going to the cupboard to grab her own bowl. He waits until both her and Eddie have retreated to the living room with their food before letting out a long, shaky breath, pressing his palms against the counter as he leans against it. It feels like the weight that had settled on his chest the night he had that talk with Bev is steadily growing heavier, splintering his ribs and crushing his lungs, making it a struggle to breathe.

             _You want to kiss Eddie,_ his brain taunts ruthlessly as he hangs his head between his shoulders, trying to get his heart rate under control. _You want him. You love him._

_You’re in love with Eddie Kaspbrak and you have been for a very, very long time._

             It’s this last thought that sends his stomach lurching. He has to swallow roughly to keep down the bile that rises rapidly in his throat, a chilling panic sending shivers up and down his spine as he does so. There’s a part of him that wants to deny the idea altogether, not wanting to confront it, whereas a majority of him is just relieved to understand what this weird feeling he’s had since he was sixteen-years-old is.

             Now, he just has to figure out what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you know, my goal for when i'm updating this fic is as follows:  
> -chapter five will be posted monday (april 23)  
> -chapter six will be posted either wednesday (april 25) or thursday (april 26)  
> -chapter seven will be posted either friday (april 27) or saturday (april 28)  
> -the finale, chapter eight, will be posted either tuesday (may 1) or wednesday (may 2)
> 
> this is my outline for updating schedules, but considering the fact that i am incredibly busy (rehearsals, homework, plus my stepmom is ready to go into labor any day now) and i only have up to the first half of chapter six written so far, this schedule is subject to change. however, i will try my best to keep to these days and i hope you guys enjoy where this fic goes! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little bit shorter than the other chapters but this is where things starts getting more... just _more _yk?__
> 
> __the last three chapters will most likely be well above 5k words instead of slightly below!_ _

            It started when they were kids.

             At least, Richie thinks it did.

             For as long as he can remember, Eddie Kaspbrak has been his favorite person. When they met in Kindergarten – a meeting that consisted of Richie accidentally tripping over Eddie’s backpack and getting a bloody nose on the first day, followed by Eddie crying because he felt guilty about it – it didn’t take long for him to feel like they were connected. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it ( _really_ thinking about it, determined to figure out what’s going on in his head), it was more than that.

            Meeting Stan, Richie felt safe. Meeting Bill, Richie felt happy. Meeting Ben, Richie felt energized. Meeting Mike, Richie felt accepted. Meeting Beverly, Richie felt whole.

            When five-year-old Richie consoled a sobbing five-year-old Eddie with blood gushing out of his nose, he felt as though he was home. The house he lived in was nothing more than an inconvenience, a place where he slept whenever his parents weren’t keeping him awake by mistreating him. The people he’s related to were mere strangers, sharing tense conversation in brief passing on holidays when his folks bothered to invite people over and made him stay home so they could appear as the normal family that his aunts and uncles assumed them to be.

            His real family became the losers. His real home became Eddie.

             God, how could he have been so fucking blind?

            Sixteen-year-old Richie thought a lot about Bev and Eddie’s relationship, obsessed with figuring out why it felt so off, so out-of-place in his mind. Sixteen-year-old Richie felt indescribably pangs of jealousy when he watched them hold hands and kiss, a jealously that he tried to shrug off as a crush on Bev, or perhaps even an envy for the relationship he didn’t have. Sixteen-year-old Richie lost sleep. Sixteen-year-old Richie shed unexplainable tears.

            Sixteen-year-old Richie Tozier was head over heels in love with sixteen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak and he had no fucking clue.

            “Hey,” Eddie says suddenly, snapping his fingers together a few inches away from Richie’s nose, lips turned down in a frown that looks more worried than aggravated. “Did you hear what I just said?”

            Richie blinks, abruptly pulling himself out of his thoughts and focusing his gaze on Eddie, who slowly lowers his hand, his frown deepening at the dazed look in Richie’s eyes. Clearing his throat, Richie shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, and replies, “Sorry, I was just…” He trails off, brows pinched together, and offers a sheepish smile. “No, I didn’t. What’d you say?”

            Taking a moment to examine Richie’s features, unsure of whether to move on or question the odd behavior, Eddie points to the freezer beside him and asks, “Should we have French fries or tater tots with dinner?”

            “Tater tots,” Richie answers instantly, trying to pull a face that makes it seem like it’s the obvious choice. “French fries are great and all, but c’mon, Eds. Always go with tater tots.” Eddie hums contemplatively, cocking an eyebrow in a challenging manner before reaching into the freezer to grab a bag of French fries and placing it into the shopping cart. Richie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting childishly. “Why’d you even ask, asshole?”

            “Specifically to piss you off,” Eddie deadpans, but the ends of his lips twitch up into a small, amused smile. Richie goes to scoff, but his gaze gets stuck on the gentle look on Eddie’s features and he can feel himself reeling back into the spiral of thoughts in his head. Eddie’s smile falls upon seeing Richie’s eyes glaze over into the same dazed expression from before, causing the confusion and concern to grow stronger in his chest. Gnawing on his lower lip thoughtfully, he lets out a soft sigh and says, “We’ll have both,” before he grabs the bag of tater tots and sets it beside the French fries.

            Richie nods stiffly and murmurs, “Sounds good to me,” as he tears his gaze away and forces himself to angle his head towards the floor, not wanting to space out while staring at Eddie at risk of being caught and questioned. Eddie falters, looking like he wants to say something, but ultimately decides to turn around and lead the way down the aisle. Richie trails slowly behind him, and oddly enough, he starts to think about prom.

            During their senior year of high school, the losers went to prom as a giant group, choosing not to pair off into duos in fear of someone being unintentionally left out. They placed simple ground rules for the dance – no dancing with anyone other than another loser, and no slow dancing in general. It was supposed to be a night to celebrate making it through twelfth grade, to celebrate surviving eighteen years despite all their struggles and all the bumps in the road. Bill had asked Eddie and Beverly if they were okay with this arrangement, not wanting to interfere with any romantic plans the two may have had for the evening. Bev and Eddie, however, were over the moon about the losers prom idea, insisting that they wanted to go through with it as well.

            On the night of prom, the losers had the time of their lives, dancing in a misshapen circle until they were drenched with sweat and red in the face – and Richie couldn’t stop watching Bev and Eddie, a strange pang in his chest that he didn’t yet understand. The two were inseparable the entire night, clutching hands and murmuring to each other excitedly about… about…

            “Hey, Eds?”

            Eddie hums, looking up from the array of fruits displayed before him to meet Richie’s gaze.

            Richie falters slightly, unsure if asking is really a good idea, but he decides to throw caution to the wind as his curiosity grows stronger. “Do you remember prom night?”

            “Yeah, of course,” Eddie replies, his lips automatically twitching up at the memory of the dance. “Why?”

            Gnawing on his lower lip, Richie says, “I was thinking about it for some reason–” _because you were there and I can’t stop thinking about you,_ “–and I just remembered seeing you and Bev whispering to each other a lot throughout the night. This is probably dumb, since prom was three years ago, but what were you guys talking about?”

            Eddie shoots Richie a mildly surprised look, his eyebrows twitching up before drawing together in thought. He takes a few moments to respond, but when he does he sounds a little sheepish and angles his face towards the ground. “Oh, uh… okay, this is super embarrassing, but we were talking about finding partners once we moved to New York.”

            “How is that embarrassing?” Richie asks, confused.

            Sparing a quick glance in Richie’s direction, Eddie scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground and mutters, “Because the conversation started when I told her how hot all of you guys looked in your suits.”

            For what must be the hundredth time in the past week, Richie’s brain short circuits, leaving him blinking to himself in silent shock as he stares at Eddie, brows twitching first up and then together. “Oh,” he finally managed to choke out a few moments later, trying (and failing) to comprehend his thoughts. “That’s not… I mean, I don’t _think_ that’s embarrassing? It’s just…”

            “It _is_ embarrassing,” Eddie insists, but his voice lilts up at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement. “I mean, we’re all friends, y’know? We’re like family, and I shouldn’t have been fucking drooling over all of you, right?”

            The way Eddie asks this – looking more curious than certain, as if he’s doubting the words as he says them – makes Richie’s heart stutter in his chest. He has a feeling that his answer is far more important than he can even begin to comprehend, leaving him stuck in a shocked silence, pondering the best way to respond. Eventually, he settles on, “That’s not necessarily true.” This seems to be enough to draw Eddie’s full attention, so, after a moment of pause, he goes on. “Like… Bill and Ben, right? They both drooled over Beverly for years, and there was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with you and Bev dating, even though you weren’t actually dating.” He takes another moment to think through his words, pointedly ignoring the way Eddie is staring at him with something akin to awe in his eyes. “So… we _are_ a family, but it’s not like we’re all brothers and sister or something. The only people I consider siblings out of all the losers are Bev and Stan. There‘s nothing wrong with us being attracted to each other.” As he says this, he winces slightly, afraid that his choice in wording may be enough to expose his feelings.

            Thankfully, Eddie just hums, finally breaking his gaze away from Richie to mull over these words. “I guess that makes sense,” he murmurs, scanning up and down the aisle absentmindedly. “I dunno… I just feel weird knowing that I basically had a crush on five straight dudes, y’know?

            “A crush?” Richie repeats, his lips parting, jaw slack in surprise. Eddie shrugs, which does nothing to help the way Richie’s heart is hammering in his chest. “You had a crush on me? On- on all of us?”

            “I mean…” Eddie trails off, tilting his head from side to side in some kind of so-so action. “Kind of? Maybe _crush_ isn’t the right word for it.” He pauses, shakes his head once, and sighs softly under his breath as he goes to grab a container of strawberries from the display they’re currently walking past. “I think it was more like I wouldn’t let myself consider anyone else, if you know what I mean? Like, no one else in Derry was remotely appealing in comparison to you guys, because everyone else in high school was a fucking asshole.”

            This sentence is enough to snap Richie back into a normal headspace as he lets out a loud snort, lips tugging upward into an amused grin. “Are you saying we’re not assholes? I’m pretty sure we’re assholes, too, Eds.”

            “We’re the biggest assholes,” Eddie agrees with a nod, looking just as amused as Richie feels. “But we’re assholes with _class_ , so it’s okay. The other people were like, _conservative_ assholes, y’know?”

            Letting out a low hum, Richie nods along, feigning an overly serious expression as he does so. “I see, I see. So, out of the entirety of Derry, we were the better assholes, is that what you’re saying?”

            “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Eddie confirms, giggling softly under his breath. He stops then and gestures to the wall of items before him, instructing, “Pick a desert.”

            Richie looks over his options, finding a wide array of cake batter, brownie mix, and various other out-of-the-box sweets. His eyes travel further down the aisle, finding even more sugary options awaiting him, making it even harder for him to choose. Then, suddenly, he gets an idea and grins to himself, striding over to grab a few bags of chocolate chips and toss them into the cart. “Chocolate covered strawberries,” he explains to Eddie when he receives a confused look.

            Lips parting into a silent _oh_ , Eddie takes a moment to consider this and eventually nods. “That sounds really good, actually.”

            “You’re welcome in advance,” Richie says, dramatically bowing with a shit-eating grin on his face. “What’s next on the list, Spaghetti man?”

            Eddie rolls his eyes, though Richie can’t tell if it’s in reaction to the nickname or to the theatrics, and scans over the items in their cart. “Bev just said to get something for dinner, so I think we’re good to go. Unless there’s anything else you can think of?”

            “Hm,” Richie hums, copying Eddie’s actions as he looks over the food they’ve selected. “Looks good to me.” Then, clapping his hands together, he faces Eddie and says, “Next stop: check-out! Lead the way!” Eddie chuckles, but silently obliges, pushing the cart towards the front of the store. Richie pauses, his face falling as he watches Eddie go, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. Sighing softly, he shakes his head to himself and follows Eddie, trying not to let his mind wander too far.

 

 

 

 

            “Because Val is leaving in the morning,” Beverly states, one hand on her hip and the other wrapped securely around Valery’s waist as she glances between Richie and Eddie, “you two are in charge of dinner tonight. Eddie, don’t burn the building down. Richie, put out any fires that Eddie starts.”

            Eddie huffs, his arms crossed over his chest and his lower lip jutted out into a childish pout. “Hey!”

            “She’s right,” Richie points out, throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and trying to ignore the way his stomach clenches when Eddie instinctively leans into the touch. “When you guys came to visit over summer, you set my toaster on fire. My _toaster_ , Eddie. You were making _toast_.”

            “That wasn’t my fault!” Eddie protests, his brows pinching together as his pout deepens into a scowl. He turns his head to glare up at Richie as Beverly and Valery snicker to one another softly. “And what, are you some great fucking chef now, huh? You’ve started a few kitchen fires, too!”

            Shrugging, Richie agrees, “I have, yeah, but I also put them out and caused no damage. When you set my toaster on fire, you panicked and pushed it away and caught the curtains on fire, too. We had to call 911, remember? The firemen showed up and everything.”

            Eddie’s glare hardens, but his grimace wobbles slightly as he tries to fight off a smile. “You called 911, not me. I put the fire out!”

            “Bev called 911,” Richie corrects, tightening his hold on Eddie as his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “And I put the fire out while you screamed in the corner. Nice try, though.”

            “You’re an asshole,” Eddie grumbles, but he finally gives in and grins, shaking his head to himself as he turns to face Bev and Val, who’re both watching them in amusement. Richie tenses slightly when he sees the looks in their eyes, a mutual understanding and fondness that makes him uneasy, but he pushes it away and promises himself to ask Beverly about it later.

            Withdrawing his arm from Eddie’s shoulders, Richie places his hands on his hips and looks at the girls expectantly. “Well, what are you standing there for? Go! Spend some time together! We’ve got this covered!” He lifts a hand to shoo them out of the room, then blows them a kiss just before they disappear from the kitchen, calling out a quick, “Be safe! Use protection!” He pauses, blinks to himself, and adds, “Or don’t? Do lesbians use protection? That’s a thing, right? Aren’t they called dental dams, or something? Do you use those? “

            “Shut up, Richard,” Beverly yells at him from the living room, just as Valery laughs and says, “We don’t.”

            “That’s not something I wanted to know,” Eddie sighs, his eyes fluttering shut and his nose crinkling slightly. “Thanks for that, Richie. I think I’m scarred for life.”

            Richie rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Don’t be so dramatic, Kaspbrak.”

            “Don’t tell me what to do, Tozier,” Eddie quips back instantly, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes, brows pinched together. “Jesus Christ, I think that actually just fucked me up forever. Now it’s like, in my head. I can’t stop picturing it. This is all your fault.”

            With a half-hearted shrug, Richie makes his way to the counter and starts pulling the groceries they got out of the bags, lining them up along the counter as he goes. “You’ve been with enough guys to be able to picture a hot dude, haven’t you? Think of that instead. That’s how that works, right? Just will the vagina away?”

            “You’re insufferable,” Eddie groans, coming up besides Richie and shoving his shoulder slightly before grabbing the bag of French fries and making his way across the kitchen to grab a cooking tray.

            “If it helps, you can just think of me. Y’know, since you had a crush on me in high school and all.” Richie says these words teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in Eddie’s direction, but his heartrate still picks up speed in result. He almost wants to take the statement back, but he can’t keep acting as weird and distant as he has been the past few days, and he knows that these are the kinds of jokes that Eddie expects from him. So, swallowing down the lump in his throat, he sing-songs, “I wonder, my dear Spaghetti, how many of your wet dreams did I star in? All of them? I bet it was all of them.”

            Eddie lets out a loud laugh as he arranges the French fries on the cooking tray. “I told you, it wasn’t really a crush, and it wasn’t just you. Don’t inflate your ego too much there, Trashmouth.”

            “Oh, it’s already inflated,” Richie tells him, chuckling slightly, hoping that it doesn’t sound as strained at it feels. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Who was the star of your wet dreams, huh? ‘Cause I will be seriously offended if I wasn’t there at least once. Lie to me, if you have to. Like, just say I was in the background, cheering you on and offering water or something.”

            “Oh, my god,” Eddie snorts, leaning against the counter, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “I hate that fact that you would actually do that.”

            Richie takes out a pan and puts in on the stove, flashing a grin in Eddie’s direction as he grabs a spatula, getting ready to cook the burgers. “Hydration is very important, Edward. I’m merely here to support and provide for you, even when you’re having sex. Now, stop changing the subject!” He gingerly takes out one of the frozen patties and places it on the pan, facing Eddie with his eyebrows raised as he waits for the stovetop to hear up. “Not answering me for so long has only piqued my curiosity, you know. You’ve just dug yourself into a hole, here.”

            Letting out a mixture of a chuckle and a sigh, Eddie glances over to Richie and asks, “Why do you want to know so bad?”

            Richie shrugs, though he casts his gaze downward and pointedly avoids looking back up at Eddie. “Gotta inflate my ego some more.”

            “Your head is going to explode one of these days,” Eddie deadpans, flashing Richie a wide grin that he doesn’t see. He falters slightly upon noticing how Richie is staring intently at the countertop with glazed over eyes, not quite as dazed as he had been at the store but looking close to it. With a short pause, he ponders questioning the odd behavior, but something tells him that this isn’t the right time to do it. Letting out a short breath, he grabs the tray of French fries off the counter and carries it across the room, nudging Richie’s shoulder with his own as he pulls open the oven and slides the tray in. “Well,” he starts softly, seeing Richie jump slightly at his sudden voice as he turns the oven on and scoots back to lean against the counter. “Do you want to know, like, in general, or specifically out of the losers?”

            Richie blinks, unsure if he should be stunned or excited, and offers a wide, somewhat wobbly smile. “The losers, obviously. What kind of question is that?”

            Holding his hands out in defense, Eddie says, “I was just checking.” Taking a moment to consider his reply, he lets his hands fall back to his sides and cocks his head to the side, a movement which Richie watches uneasily. “I think…” Eddie starts, pausing against to hum lightly under his breath, brows twitching together in thought before he nods to himself. “Yeah, yeah, uh- I’m pretty sure the first person I had a wet dream about out of you guys was Bill, when we were, like, fifteen. That was when I had first come to terms with the fact that I was gay, and I didn’t know how to tell the difference between platonic love and romantic love, so I thought I was in love with him for like, a month or so. After that was you, then Mike, then Stan. I had a few of Ben, too, but they were pretty rare and I always felt bad because he’s, like, the purest human being I’ve ever met, and I felt weird dreaming about him without his consent.”

            “I was second?” Richie asks, trying to keep his voice as light as it normally is, but his tongue feels numb and out of place in his mouth, his words sound slurred to his own ears, and it feels like the room darkens around him. With a deep breath, he places a hand on the countertop besides the stove and tries to stay focused on the conversation. “Eds, I’m _honored_.”

            “Fuck off,” Eddie giggles, looking relieved to hear the teasing tone in Richie’s voice, thankfully unaware of how hard Richie’s heart is pounding in his chest. “Like I said, I was fifteen, and it’s not like there were many options for cute boys in Derry. It was just you guys and my celebrity crushes, so…”

            With another shallow inhale, Richie forces a mischievous smile. “You thought I was a cute boy, huh? Interesting.” He gives himself a moment to flip the burger in the pan, only allowing his eyes to flicker towards Eddie for a few seconds before tearing his gaze away. Once he feels like he can breathe again, he lets out a low hum. “So, you had a crush on me, you thought I was cute, _and_ I was the second loser you had a wet dream about? I think my ego just grew ten times bigger.”

            “You keep saying these things like it was just you,” Eddie huffs, raising an eyebrow at Richie stubbornly. “It was all five of you guys. You’re not _that_ special, Richie.”

            Instinctively, before he can even consider his words, Richie says, “But we’re that something-special, remember? Even if you had these crushes and dreams about the rest of the guys, too, it’s still special for me because there’s something special about us. You said so yourself.”

            Eddie falters at that, his features looking both confused and uncertain, as if he can’t quite understand the meaning behind Richie’s words. It feels like a hand has reached into Richie’s chest and is squeezing his lungs, forcing the air out of him as he averts his gaze and puts all his attention towards cooking the burgers, hoping that the trembling in his hands isn’t too obvious.

            Hoping that what he just said wasn’t too obvious.

            “You’re right,” Eddie finally responds, his voice soft and slow, his lips pulled down into a slight frown. There’s a moment where he looks conflicted, a war behind his eyes, until he gently asks, “Are you okay, Rich? You’ve been acting kind of out of it…”

            Richie knows his behavior has been obvious, knows that he’s been spacing out and losing focus, but being confronted about it still makes his throat close in panic as he tries to breathe in. He’s been trying to act normal, trying as hard as he possibly can to tease and joke like he normally does, something that usually comes to him naturally but feels uncomfortable to him in a time like this.

            He’s been trying, trying, trying to get these fucking thoughts out of his head, but to no avail. He can’t stop thinking about it, about Eddie, about how long he spent oblivious to his own feelings, about how things could have been different if he’d just _known-_

            The world abruptly stops. Richie breathes in, feeling his chest loosen. He breathes out, his heartrate coming down to a normal pace. “I’m fine, Eds,” he says, and his voice isn’t thick or strained or shaky. When he gives Eddie a wide grin, it’s real and genuine. “I think I’m just tired, or something. I’ll go to bed early tonight and see if that helps.”

            Eddie looks affronted by the sudden change in demeanor, the confusion in his eyes growing stronger, but he can tell that Richie’s being truthful. “Okay,” he murmurs, shaking his head to himself slightly. “Well, uh- if anything _is_ wrong, you can talk to me, okay? You know that I’m always here for you.”

            “I know,” Richie promises warmly. “I swear, if anything’s wrong, you’ll be the first to know.”

            There’s a second where Eddie looks as though he wants to press the subject further, but instead he just smiles and nods, turning away to pull open the oven and check on the French fries. Once he turns away, Richie’s grin falls, his eyebrows pinching together as the beginnings of a plan begins to form in his mind.

            Trying to ignore it clearly isn’t working, so he’ll have to do something instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to all the sweethearts that commented on the last chapter about my stepmom potentially going into labor: thank you so hecking much for all your kind words (': my stepmom officially went into labor on friday and my little bro was born, so that's really cool!
> 
> from where i stand, the rough schedule i posted for updates on the last chapter shouldn't have to change, so the next chapter will hopefully be up by wednesday or thursday! again, i'm still incredibly busy with a lot of things so i can't promise anything, but i will try my best!!
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments! i know i haven't responded to many yet (i'm planning on going through all of them soon to reply to them all) but i've read each and every one and smiled like a fucking idiot in public because reading your thoughts and opinions on my dumb fic makes me so fucking happy, thank y'all sm <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this is so late!! i hope you enjoy it!!

            There’s a stillness in the air, unsettling and uncomfortable, left in the wake of Valery leaving to spend Christmas with her family. She’d given Richie a quick hug and a warm smile despite knowing him for two weeks, and he finds that he already misses her. Eddie is the one who offered to escort her to the airport (apparently, the last time Beverly took her, she missed her flight due to taking so long to say goodbye), leaving Richie and Beverly alone for at least two hours.

            “You really love her, don’t you?”

            Beverly’s eyes are still red and glossy when she looks up at Richie and nods, sniffling slightly and wiping at the tear stains on her cheeks. “I do,” she tells him sincerely. “I love her just as much as I love the losers. Sometimes I think I love her even more.”

            For a moment, Richie wants to make a joke, to poke and prod at her side and tease her until she lets out a wet laugh and shoves him away with a roll of her eyes, but he can’t find it in himself to follow through with it. Instead, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, resting his cheek against her hair as she leans her head on his shoulder. “She’ll be back in a week,” he assures her softly. “Just seven days, Bev. It’ll go by in the blink of an eye, I promise.”

            “I know,” she murmurs, letting out a soft sigh. “I’m just so used to seeing her every day, you know? It always sucks when she has to leave. It’s like when Eddie and I left after staying with you. Even though I knew we’d see each other again as soon as possible, it still hurt to say goodbye.” She pauses briefly, shaking her head to herself, and then says, “Only six more months until Seattle, though. We’re almost done.”

            Letting out a low hum, Richie pulls back slightly to look down at her, brows pinched together in curiosity. “Is Valery gonna be moving with you?”

            Beverly smiles slightly, the look on her face so lovestruck that Richie can’t help but smile back, and answers, “Yeah, she is. That’s another reason why Eddie and I are planning on telling the others at New Years, ‘cause Val and I are gonna get our own apartment when we move and it’d be hard to explain why Eddie and I aren’t living together anymore.”

            At the mention of Eddie’s name, Richie feels himself tense up nervously. He licks his lower lip, mouth feeling incredibly dry despite the glass of water he drank less than ten minutes ago, and says, “Hey, Bev? Can I tell you something?”

            “Of course,” she tells him instantly, leaning back even farther to look at him properly. There’s an expectant look on her features, as if she’s been expecting this to happen, which does nothing to help the way his stomach is churning uncomfortably. “What is it?”

            Swallowing the lump in his throat, Richie averts his eyes and murmurs, “It’s about Eddie.” Beverly nods and makes a go on gesture with her hands. “I, uh… I think you already know what I’m gonna say, but I still need to say it out loud, you know? Like, I need to face it somewhere that isn’t just in my head–”

            Richie,” Beverly interrupts, her lips twitching into a grin. “I know what you’re gonna say. Just spit it out.”

            “I’m in love with Eddie,” Richie breathes out softly, barely audible even to himself. Clearing his throat, he meets her gaze and repeats, this time louder, “I’m in love with Eddie.” He feels his brows pinch together anxiously as he adds, “I think I have been since we were sixteen, maybe even before that, and I have no fucking clue what to do about it.”

            Beverly’s grin widens slightly before settling into a serious look as she contemplates her reply, leaning into his side again to offer silent comfort, a gesture he appreciates more than he can even begin to explain. After a few moments of silence, she says, “Have you tried telling him yet?”

            Shaking his head, Richie responds, “No, but he’s noticed that I’ve been acting differently around him and asked if there’s something wrong.”

            “Why haven’t you told him?” Beverly asks, her head cocked slightly to the side. “That seems like the easiest solution to me. I get that it must be scary, but you’re _Richie and Eddie._ Even if he doesn’t feel the same, there’s no way you won’t work it out.”

            Richie frowns in uncertainty, shaking his head before he even realizes he’s doing it. “It’s not that simple,” he tells her, anxiously gnawing on his lower lips as he speaks. “Like… I don’t know how to explain it. I know I could just tell him and we’d find a way to work it out, whether it’s as friends or as more, but I just can’t do it. This feels too important to just _say_ , you know? Like, I tell him _everything,_ Bev. I literally text him to tell him when I’m taking a shit.”

            Beverly crinkles her nose in disgust. “That’s _disgusting_ , Richie.”

            “That’s what he tells me when I text him,” Richie says, lips twitching up into a small smile. “But he’s so used to it that if I don’t tell him a couple times a day, he asks me if I’m sick because it’s not healthy to go so long without shitting.” He pauses, letting out a soft, fond sigh. “I don’t know, Bev. Just telling him doesn’t feel good enough. I feel like I have to do something _more._ ”

            “I guess that makes sense,” she murmurs, brows pinched together in thought. “When I wanted to ask Valery out, I spent weeks trying to figure out the best way to do it because I felt like it had to be special.”

            Curious, Richie asks, “How did you end up asking her?”

            “I didn’t,” Beverly states simply. “I took so long stressing about it that she asked me before I could. Which is exactly why I think you should get your head out of your ass and talk to him before it’s too late.”

            “I will,” Richie promises. “I swear I will, but I need to do something, you know? If I just tell him, it won’t seem good enough. What do you think I should do?”

            Letting out a low hum, Beverly takes a moment to ponder over her answer. Richie waits impatiently, his knee bouncing with the nervous energy pent up inside of him, but he still rests his head on top of hers and uses his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, seeking comfort in her warmth. Eventually, when Richie’s eyelids are starting to feel heavy and his breaths are beginning to slow, she tells him, “I think that you have to figure this out on your own. No one knows Eddie as well as you, Rich. Whatever you decide to do will be perfect, you just have to do it soon.”

 

 

 

 

            Richie’s plan – if you can even call it that – starts with a movie night.

            “Christmas is in five days,” is his reasoning when he proposes the idea to Bev and Eddie, jutting his lower lip out into a dramatic pout as he does so. “We’ve done nothing except decorate the tree and the apartment. I’m honestly surprised we haven’t been watching holiday movies this whole time, but we need to have a marathon! Where’s your Christmas spirit?!”

            Thankfully, Eddie nods in agreement, the light in his eyes reflecting excitement as he asks, “Can I pick the first movie?”

            “Yeah, of course,” Richie tells him, grin wide and happy. “But Polar Express has to be last. It’s the best Christmas movie to fall asleep to.” He turns to Beverly then, biting the inside of his cheek as he does so. “Are you in?”

            “I’d love to,” Bev says, a knowing look on her features. “But Valery and I are gonna FaceTime tonight, so I can’t.” She glances towards Eddie to make sure he isn’t looking her way before sending Richie a wink and adding, “Hope you have fun, though.”

            Richie rolls his eyes and gives her an unimpressed look, but his heart still picks up speed inside his chest, leaping up to his throat and settling deep in his gut. With a deep breath, he shoves as her shoulder, sending her stumbling slightly towards the hall, and says, “Tell Val I said hi.”

            “And that I love her!” Eddie calls, to which she shouts back, “I will!” before retreating to her bedroom for the night. As soon as she’s gone, Eddie faces Richie with a wide smile on his face, features soft and voice lilted with energy as he says, “I’ll set up the first movie if you go make the popcorn.”

            Before Richie can even process his words, he finds himself nodding and murmuring, “Yeah, uh- yeah. Sounds like a plan.” He knows he sounds a little dazed when he says it, but Eddie must not notice, if the way his smile widens is anything to go by. Richie hesitates before moving, part of him wanting to just stand there and watch as Eddie hums to himself while turning towards the TV, but part of his plan (again, _plan_ is a loose term) is subtlety. Because of this, he only falters a moment before spinning on his heel and speed walking to the kitchen, head angled towards the ground to conceal the flush that rises from his neck to his cheeks.

            By the time Richie emerges from the kitchen with a comically large bowl of popcorn – something that may look funny, but considering the fact that him and Eddie both inhale popcorn while watching movies, it’s completely practical – Eddie is lounging on the sofa with a pile of blankets and the beginning of How the Grinch Stole Christmas paused on the TV. “Took you long enough,” he comments as Richie falls into the seat next to him, already reaching over to grab a handful popcorn with one hand and grabbing the remote with the other. He flashes Richie a dazzling grin and presses play, tugging one of the blankets up to drape over their shoulders and flattening another over their laps.

            “It’s not my fault you eat three bags of popcorn is a single sitting,” Richie fires back, but he has to blink multiple times to focus his attention onto the movie, his eyes naturally drawn to Eddie like a moth to a flame, not wanting to look away. Eddie rolls his eyes and gives Richie a deadpan look, shoveling his handful of popcorn into his mouth wordlessly. Richie can’t help but snort at that, beyond amused by the way Eddie’s cheeks puff out like a chipmunk, but he still shakes his head and warns, “You’re gonna choke if you keep eating like that, and I don’t know the Heimlich.”

            It takes a moment for Eddie to swallow the food before he says, “But you _do_ know CPR, so it’s fine. Now shut up and watch the movie, asshole. This whole thing was your idea in the first place, so you can’t talk through it!” Then, as if to emphasize his point, he stuffs more popcorn past his lips with one hand and places the other over Richie’s mouth to keep him from making another peep.

            Richie’s eyes widen slightly in shock, body going still, but he manages to shake it off before his reaction becomes too obvious. With a short huff of air out of his nose – one that hopefully can be interpreted as a sound of annoyance rather than one of nervousness – he shoves Eddie’s hand away from his face and murmurs, “You’re a dick.” He makes sure to flash Eddie a grin, though, and settles further into the sofa cushions to get comfortable for the long night ahead.

            They watch an abundance of movies, ranging anywhere from A Christmas Story to any movie that vaguely mentions Christmas (like The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which Richie definitely shed a tear over; he’s seen the damn thing a hundred times but it never fails to make him cry. He would have been embarrassed, but he could hear Eddie sniffling besides him so he knew he wasn’t the only one). Richie miraculously manages to keep his eyes glued to the screen a majority of the time, though there are a few moments here and there where he can’t help but admire the way Eddie’s features twitch and shift in reaction to films.

            It isn’t until around four in the morning that Eddie’s shoulders slump slightly as he leans against Richie’s side, struggling to keep his head up as Polar Express plays on screen. A fond feeling swells inside Richie’s chest as he looks down to see Eddie’s eyelids fluttering slightly, tiredly. With a certain smugness to his voice, he whispers, “See? Told you this is the best movie to fall asleep to.”

            “Fuck off, Tozier,” Eddie immediately murmurs, but his words are somewhat slurred – not to the point of being incomprehensible, but to the point where his f’s are a little too long and the z in Tozier sounds more than an s. Richie finds himself unable to hold back a wide grin at this, just as Eddie huffs and insists, “I’m not falling asleep, asshole. I’m barely even tired.”

 _Asleep_ sounds more that _sh-leep_ when it passes Eddie’s barely parted lips, causing Richie’s smile to grow even wider as he wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulls him in closer. “Sure, Eds. Whatever you say.” A noise of complaint sounds from the back of Eddie’s throat, something between a groan and a closed-mouth sigh, but he doesn’t bother to come up with another response as he lets his head lull to the side, resting against Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s smile instantly falls as Eddie turns his face to press against Richie’s neck, breath ghosting softly over the skin there. “You look pretty tired there.”

            Eddie nuzzles further into Richie, eyes now closed, and breathes, “Shut up, Trashmouth.”

            “Since you asked so nicely,” Richie mutters, reclining as much as he can into the sofa cushions in the hope of making Eddie more comfortable. “I’m definitely reminding you that I was right when you wake up, though.”

            “You can do whatever you want,” Eddie sighs, tone tired yet slightly aggravated. “Just shut your fucking mouth.” Then, as an afterthought, with a softer voice, he adds, “And please don’t move. You’re really comfortable.”

            Letting out a quiet laugh, Richie nods and lets himself relax, splaying his hand across Eddie’s hip to hold him in place, resting his cheek on top of Eddie’s head. He realizes, suddenly, that being in a position like this meant nothing to him two weeks ago. At the time, it was completely normal, holding no real meaning other than comfort and tradition – after all, him and Eddie have been disgustingly cuddly with one another since they were kids, even though they’d usually bicker while holding each other close, much to the annoyance (and entertainment) of their friends.

            Now, however, Richie can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest, an undeniable thundering that echoes loudly in his ears. He can picture his younger self, as much of an oblivious idiot as he may have been, soaking in the warmth and the affection of Eddie’s touch when they hugged, shoved, or even just nudged one another. It’s funny, really, how much changes once you’re aware of how you feel.

            Sporting a small smile, he mutters, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His words seem loud in the quiet of the room – he isn’t sure when, exactly, but Polar Express must have ended while they were talking – but Eddie doesn’t stir, having already fallen into a deep sleep. His features are slack and his breaths are coming out a quiet little puffs of air, barely audible to Richie’s ears but still tickling against the juncture between his shoulder and his neck.

            With sleep beginning to haze the edges of his mind, Richie thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but he knows that’s just no possible. Instead, he enjoys it for what it is and lets himself dream of something more. Something that, if all goes well, may be real in the near future.

            And when Eddie pushes him off the couch later that day, cackling loudly at the odd grunt of surprise that he makes upon impact, he find that the blissful feeling hasn’t gone away. That is, he hopes, a good sign.

 

 

 

 

            “I’m going to die.”

            Eddie rolls his eyes with a huff. “You’re not going to die, dumbass. Just stand up, you’ll figure out how to balance once you do.”

            Letting out an incredulous noise, Richie looks up at Eddie and exclaims, “Balance? You do know that I have zero coordination, right? Like, seriously, I don’t know how I walk around every day, that’s how fucking accident-prone I am.”

            “Trust me,” Eddie says, “I’m fully aware. Don’t forget who played doctor when we were kids and you had even less common sense than you do now, which shouldn’t be possible considering the fact that you’re an idiot.”

            “Rude,” Richie states, shifting his gaze back down to examine the ice skates strapped to his feet. They feel somehow too tight and not tight enough, like he’s losing circulation but also like they’ll fall off if he even tries to lift a foot off the ground. The laces are frayed and look ready to snap at any given moment, yet somehow they stay tied in the pretty little bows that Eddie has tried countless times to teach Richie how to make, to no avail. Letting out a sigh, Richie leans back in the chair he’s occupying and shakes his head. “I’m gonna break my ankles, Eds. There’s no way I can do this.”

            Features softening, Eddie lets out a slow breath and lowers himself to the seat besides Richie, propping his matching ice skates up by the heel of the blades and offering a gentle smile as he assures, “You’ll be fine, Rich. I was scared shitless when Bev dragged me out here to skate for the first time, too, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll love it.” Then, deepening his voice a few octaves to imitate Richie, he says, “I’ll even hold your hand, if you want.”

            Giving Eddie an unimpressed look, Richie whines, “You can’t use that against me, I was serious when I said that! You and Bev are coming out to the rest of the losers, I figured you might need something to ground you, you know?”

            “Who said I’m not being serious?” Eddie fires back with a scoff, pushing himself back to his feet (somehow finding the perfect balance without even a moment of struggle, much to Richie’s surprise and confusion) and spinning around, holding his hand out in Richie’s direction. “Come on, Trashmouth. Let’s get you on the ice.”

            Richie falters, glancing down at Eddie’s hand and up at his steady gaze, then back down again before hesitantly lifting his own to accept the offer. “If I fall and break something, it’s completely your fault, okay? I’m trusting you with my life here, Eds. You better not let me down.”

            With a dramatic gasp, Eddie says, “Why, I’d never!” He lets out a soft laugh with his words as he helps pull Richie to his feet,  keeping one of their hands locked together and bringing the other one to rest on Richie’s hip when he starts to teeter slightly. “Okay, just- trust me, okay? I’ve got a hold of you, and you know I’m strong enough to hold you up, so you’re not gonna fall. Just try to stand like you normally would, but focus a little bit more on your balance, okay?”

            “Okay,” Richie murmurs, brows pinching together nervously as he watches his feet, ankles wobbling considerably as he tries to follow Eddie’s instructions. When one of his legs nearly buckles, he lets out a surprised yelp and grips onto Eddie’s shoulders with both hands for better balance, eyes wide. “Nope! Nope! Can’t do it! I can’t do it!”

            “Yes, you can,” Eddie promises, using his now free hands to grab onto Richie’s other hip, tightening his hold to help keep Richie upright. “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to go on the ice, okay? But I _know_ you can do this.”

            Richie frowns in disbelief, but still he nods, willing to keep trying if that’s what Eddie really wants. Besides, it was his idea to go out and do something – another part of his ‘plan,’ which is only succeeding to make his heart beat so fast that he fears he may be dying on an hourly basis – with the promise that he’d do whatever it is if Eddie chose what they did. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting Eddie to choose ice skating of all things, but here he is, bundled up in multiple layers of sweaters with giant fucking blades on his feet that could probably kill him if he’s not careful.

            But Eddie was beaming when they pulled in, so maybe death will be worth it.

            “Talk me through it again,” Richie requests, staring intently down at his skates with a flare of determination in his eyes. “Like, step-by-step, correct-me-as-I-go, that kind of thing.”

            Following Richie’s gaze, Eddie hums lightly and starts with, “Move your feet further apart from each other. Shoulder-length apart should be good, I think.” Slowly, far more cautious than necessary, Richie does as asked, gripping tighter onto Eddie as he shuffles his feet outward. Nodding, Eddie goes on, saying, “Make sure your weight is evenly distributed, and that you’re not leaning too much on one foot than the other.”

            “I think I’m good there,” Richie murmurs, the end of the sentence lilting up to make it sound like more of a question than anything else.

            Eddie flashes Richie a quick, approving grin. “Good! Okay, now just… let go of me, alright? I’ve still got a hold on you and I won’t let you fall, but try to let go of me.” Richie takes a moment to breathe in, almost embarrassed by how afraid he is, and removes his right hand from Eddie’s shoulder, lowering it to dangle at his side. Eddie’s eyes brighten and he nods encouragingly, spurring Richie on to drop his left hand as well. His knees wobble slightly, but he has a feeling it’s more out of nerves than lack of balance. “Yes! Good job! Now I’m gonna let go, okay? You can grab me again if you start to fall.”

            Richie licks his lower lip and gives a short nod. “Okay. I’m ready. Let go.”

            “Keep your footing steady,” Eddie reminds him quietly, squeezing his hips once in reassurance before removing his hands carefully. Richie sucks in a sharp breath and returns his gaze to the floor to watch as his legs get a bit shaky, but he sticks his arms out to help regain balance until he’s managing to stan upright without any assistance. Eddie, not giving a single fuck about the fact that they’re in a public skating rink filled with people, claps loudly and exclaims, “There you go! See? You got this!”

            “I still need to figure out how the fuck I’m supposed to move, Eds,” Richie points out, but his lips twitch up into a wide smile upon seeing the pure joy and pride on Eddie’s features. Shaking out his arms in an attempt to get rid of the rest of his nerves, he meets Eddie’s gaze and states, “Alright, teacher man. Show me how to do this.”

            Eddie takes a moment to ponder his next move, lips pursed slightly in thought, before he moves to his original position, one hand in Richie’s and one on his hip. “Okay, we’ll start this slow. Walking in skates is a little bit harder than standing, but it should only take a minute for you to get down. The first few steps, you can hold on to me, then you have to let go, and then I’ll let go once I think you’ve got it down. Sound good?”

            “Whatever you say, teacher man,” Richie murmurs, happily reaching up to hold onto one of Eddie’s shoulders once more. “Just don’t let me fall.”

            “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie says, tightening his hold on Richie’s hand. “Now, just… take a step forward, okay? I’ve got you, you’ll be fine.”

            Richie lips twitch down into small frown as he cautiously lifts a foot, clutching harder onto Eddie to avoid toppling over as he brings it forward and places it back on the ground. “I feel like Bambi when he took his first steps,” he muses as he carefully brings his other foot forward in another slow step.

            “Bambi learned faster than this.”

            Letting out a dramatic noise of faux pain, Richie casts Eddie a glare and defends, “Well, Bambi didn’t have six-foot-long legs, so fuck off!”

            Scoffing, Eddie retorts, “You’re not even six-feet-tall in general, dumbass! You’re, like, 5’10 on a good day.”

            “And you’re 5’6 on any day,” Richie fires back, “so hop off my dick and let me _live_ , Edward.”

            Features smug, Eddie withdraws his hands and crosses his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow. “Consider me hopped off.”

            Richie, who had been in the middle of taking another step forward, lets out a yelp and scrambles to clutch onto Eddie, his foot slamming down to the ground as he heaves, “Jesus, I take it back! I take it back! I’m sorry! Holy fuck!” Eddie lets out a loud laugh, but makes no move to aid Richie in staying upright. Desperate, and a little afraid, Richie begs, “Eds, Eddie, Spaghetti man- _please_ , I’m gonna fall and I’m gonna die and I’m sorry I said to hop off my dick I take it back hop back on please for the love of _god_ –”

            “Oh, my god, _fine_ ,” Eddie relents, uncrossing his arms and returning them to where they’d been, this time intertwining their fingers when he grabs Richie’s hand. “I’m not hopping on anything, though. Now, do you think you can walk without holding onto my shoulder?”

            Taking a moment to catch his breath after rambling, Richie nods and slowly lets his left hand fall to his side, the other still gripping tightly to Eddie’s between them. This time, when he goes to take a step forward, he goes a little bit faster than before, finding that it’s a little bit easier to maintain balance now than it had been ten minutes ago. “I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he tells Eddie. As he says this, he goes to take another step, but the front of the blade gets caught on the back of his other skate, sending him lurching forward suddenly.

            Thankfully, Eddie uses his hold on Richie to keep him from falling. “You are,” he agrees, shaking his head fondly, “but I don’t think you should go on the ice today.”

            “We came all the way over here, though,” Richie argues, frowning down at Eddie guiltily. “You said you wanted to go ice skating, so we’re going ice skating. Even if I just hold onto the wall like a toddler and watch you go around the rink like a pro.”

            “That doesn’t sound like fun for you,” Eddie points out.

            Richie scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Watching you school the rest of these assholes is my definition of fun.” Then, taking a confident (yet still cautious) step forward, Richie pulls on Eddie’s hand and says, “Come on, Eds. Let’s get on the ice.”

            With a wide grin, Eddie gives in and leads the way towards the rink, going a little slower than usual to let Richie get used to the feeling of walking normally with the skates on. It isn’t until they’re standing by the entrance to the rink that he stops and looks at Richie curiously. “Do you want me to actually hold your hand the whole time, or…?”

            “Maybe for a minute or two,” Richie admits, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, just until I’m a little more comfortable with it, you know? Like, until I know I can hold onto the wall without falling on my face, if that’s okay.”

            “Of course it’s okay,” Eddie says, stepping onto the ice and taking Richie’s free hand into his, his back towards the rest of the rink in order to face Richie properly. “It’s gonna be really slippery, so be slow with it, okay? Try not to panic or freak out if your foot starts to slide.” His words do nothing to comfort Richie as he assesses the ice in front of him, watching as Eddie skillfully maneuvers backward to make room for Richie to step on. “Come on, Rich. I got you, you won’t fall.”

            Richie hesitates for a moment, glancing between the ice and Eddie’s reassuring gaze. Letting out a soft sigh, he murmurs, “If I die, you and Bev get all my stuff. Tell Stan to name his first born after me, too, okay? And don’t let him say he can’t if it’s a girl. If it’s really a problem, Rachel works, too. Her nickname would still have to be Richie, though.”

            Rolling his eyes, Eddie tugs on Richie’s hands lightly, impatiently. “Yeah, sure, will do. Now hurry the fuck up.”

            “I also have letters for you guys under my pillow that I wrote when we were eighteen,” Richie goes on, voice a bit breathless as he moves forward, raising a leg to place his foot on the ice. He sucks in a harsh breath when it starts to slide, but he just tightens his hold on Eddie and keeps talking in an attempt to ignore his nerves. “I wrote them when we were about to move from Derry, and I was gonna go to LA by myself, and I was scared you guys would forget about me or something. So I wrote everyone a letter, and I was planning on having them mailed to everyone if I died. They’re pretty cheesy and gross, but they’re pretty important to me, you know? So if this is it, if this is where I die, I want you to give everyone their letters from me, okay? And make sure everyone reads them when they’re alone–”

            “Richie–”

            “I mean,” Richie continues, eyes closed as he brings his other foot forward, throwing all caution to the wind. “You guys can read each other’s, if you want, but no one else, okay? Except Val, she’s one of us now, so she can read them, too. Actually, tell her I’m sorry she doesn’t have her own–”

            “ _Richie_ ,” Eddie states firmly, snapping Richie out of his daze. “You’re _fine_ , Rich. Open your eyes.”

            Eyelids fluttering open, Richie meets Eddie’s gaze and then looks down in awe, finding that he is, in fact, standing on the ice with no form of injury or regret. He’s beaming when he looks back up at Eddie. “I’m not dead!”

            Returning Richie’s grin, Eddie says, “Unfortunately, yeah. Thanks for telling me about those letters, though. I’ll make sure to snoop around for them when we’re in Seattle.”

            “Those letters are only to be read if I’m six feet under,” Richie tells him, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Reading them before I die would be an act of disrespect, so much so that I’d have to murder you.”

            Humming, Eddie muses, “That just sounds like the letters are so embarrassing that you don’t want to be alive when we read them.”

            “That, too.” Richie glances around him, releasing one of Eddie’s hands to grasp onto the wall to his right. “Alright, you have to hold my hand for one lap, and then you can go be perfect. Deal?”

            “Deal,” Eddie agrees, using their linked hands to help guide Richie forward as he kicks off with one foot, starting at a slow pace. It isn’t until they reach the first turn that Richie tells him to speed up a little, feeling a bit more comfortable with the feeling of gliding atop the ice. By the time they’ve rounded back to the entrance, Richie has – at least to some extent – gotten a handle on staying upright. Despite this, though, Eddie keeps his grip on Richie’s hand and asks, “Do you want another lap, or are you good?”

            Part of Richie wants to hold on tight and beg for further assistance, addicted to the way it feels to have fingers intertwined, but instead he drops his hand to his side and says, “Show me what you can do, Spaghetti man.”

            Eddie falters momentarily, as if debating his next move. Eventually, though, he just nods and grins before pushing off the ground and speeding away.

            Richie has never been a fan of ice skating before. Sure, it looked kinda cool in videos and it obviously takes some level of skill to not fall flat on your face every second, but besides that it never really caught his eyes. Now, though, with Eddie’s features so relaxed and joyful, hair blowing back from his face due to how fast he’s skating, Richie thinks he may have found a new obsession.

            Then again, anything Eddie does is worthy of being obsessed over. Why else would Richie be willing to create a plan when he’s usually just open with his feelings?

            Ah, yes, the plan-that’s-not-really-a-plan. He hopes that this is actually working in some way – even if it doesn’t end in anything more than friendship, then maybe it’s still enjoyably for Eddie in the process. Considering that the plan is just to taking Eddie on ‘dates’ that aren’t _really_ dates but have date-like vibes, then the least that can happen is that Eddie has fun while Richie pines endlessly.

            Which, now that he thinks about it, is exactly how they’ve been acting for the past sixteen years. Even if he wasn’t aware of it, Richie has obviously been pining since the beginning – something that may seem sweet, but that also means that all these date-vibes Richie has been trying to achieve are just the same as their normal vibes. There’s a slim chance that Eddie has even noticed a difference.

            “Shit,” Richie sighs under his breath, brows pinching together as he leans slightly against the wall behind him, gripping tight enough for his knuckles to turn white in order to keep himself from slipping and falling to his ass. He watches as Eddie passes him, waving to Richie as he goes by, and he wonders if there’s something more he can do when Christmas is only three days away.

            Tomorrow, he decides. Tomorrow, he will do something else, something bigger. Something that Eddie might notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering the fact that i have theater rehearsals until 5-6 pm every day, and prom on saturday, and graduation coming up, and just... a constant stream of endless shit taking up 99% of my time, this chapter is a lot later than i wanted. my hope was to have chapter eight out by today, but instead it took me a week to finish the second half of chapter six that i didn't already have written.
> 
> so! an update on the schedule i had: there isn't one. i am still using whatever free time i have to work on this (and considering the fact that opening weekend is next weekend, there won't be a lot of that free time for a couple weeks) so the last few chapters will take a lot longer to get done than originally anticipated. i'm really really sorry for having to do this, but i swear to you i'm not gonna stop! i have every single scene planned out for the last two chapters and i am gonna work my ass off to get them out asap!
> 
> (and maybe,,,maybe a surprise,,,which a couple peeps from tumblr know about already wink wonk)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo it's been a month since i started writing this can u believe it
> 
> also wooooah buddy enjoy this hot mess of gay shit

            Richie spent hours considering every possible outcome from the dinner he decided to take Eddie and Beverly out to, disguising it as a chance to thank them for giving him a place to stay despite the fact that he showed up without any warning – which is partially true, seeing as he is very grateful for spending the holidays with people he loves rather than his less than ideal parents. However, true as it may be, there’s obviously a bit of an… ulterior motive. To put it simply, he’s hoping to use this dinner, or perhaps the evening to follow once their dinner is done, to make a bigger, more obvious move on Eddie. Not something  _too_  obvious, but just enough to put the idea in his head. So it goes without saying that he spent a long time picturing how the night may progress, wanting to be prepared for anything.

            But he never thought that things would go quite like this.

            It started with Richie begging Bev and Eddie to allow him to take them out for dinner in the first place. That had been a struggle on its own, due to them insisting that he didn’t owe them anything and that they didn’t want him to spend so much money on them, but with enough pleading and pouting, they finally gave in. After that had been an hours-worth of bickering over where to eat in the first place – whatever Richie suggested was shot down for being too expensive, but all Beverly and Eddie offered in return were simple shrugs and the names of fast food places. This went on until Richie got fed up and told them to put on something fancy and be ready to leave by seven. “I’m not gonna pick a place I can’t afford,” he promised them, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he did so. It wasn’t until he reiterated this sentiment a dozen different times in a dozen different ways before they relented and went to get ready.

            The first sign that this may not go as planned is when Eddie emerges from his room a 6:45, brushing his hair out of his face with one hand and adjusting his tie with the other, eyes immediately landing on Richie, who had been lounging on the sofa and playing on his phone to pass the time. Eddie pauses as soon as he looks at Richie, a twinge of surprise on his face, before he asks, “You brought a suit?”

            “I did,” Richie confirms with a grin, pushing himself to his feet and smoothing his palms across the front of his jacket. He holds his arms out in a dramatic fashion, spinning himself around slowly to show off his outfit. When he faces Eddie again, the man looks confused – not towards Richie, but something else. Richie falters at the odd look on Eddie’s features before saying, “One of my friends from the radio station got married back in August, remember? I’ve had this bad boy lying around since then, and I figured I should bring it when I was packing for this little holiday extravaganza. Wasn’t sure what I’d need it for, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” He pauses, unable to read the strange glint in Eddie’s eyes, then looks down at himself with a slight frown. “Why? Does it look weird? I’m, like, 99% sure I put it on right.”

            This seems to snap Eddie out of his thoughts, as he blinks slowly and shakes his head to himself. For a moment, he only looks more confused and a little uncertain, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye as he offers a smile and steps forward. “It looks great,” he assures, hands extended in front of him until he has a hold of Richie’s bowtie. “Just let me fix this and you’ll look like a model.”

            In the future, when he looks back at this moment, Richie will be able to sense the difference in Eddie’s tone during this compliment in comparison to any compliment he’s given Richie prior to it. Right now, however, Richie is oblivious to the lilt in Eddie’s words as he lets out a laugh and warns, “Careful there, Eds. My ego’s been inflated enough the past few weeks, it doesn’t need to get any bigger.”

            “Once again,” Eddie murmurs, brows pinched together as he focuses on pulling Richie’s bowtie undone, “you’re not  _that_  special, Tozier.”

            With a hum, Richie sing-songs, “That’s a lie and you know it.”

            Rolling his eyes, Eddie sarcastically replies, “Oh, sorry, you’re right. You  _are_  special, Richie. A special kind of dumbass.”

            “That’s just mean,” Richie pouts, but there’s no sincerity behind his words as he watches Eddie’s slim fingers work at the material of his bowtie, somehow transforming it from the mess that it was into something so precise and pristine that it looks professionally done. Eddie backs away once the it's secure, nodding to himself in satisfaction while Richie gapes at him in awe. “How did you do that? What the fuck?”

            Sporting a wide, smug grin, Eddie shrugs and says, “It’s something you learn once you’re a big boy. Give it a few years and you’ll figure it out.”

            “I’m older than you!” Richie scoffs.

            “According to the calendar,” Eddie agrees, “but you’re basically a baby.”

            Richie’s features transform into a mixture of something teasing and uneasy as he lets out a low hum. “Call me baby again,” he says with an unnecessary wink, trying to balance the statement between funny and sincere so that Eddie has the choice to take it where he wants. It’s a little bit different than his usual tease-flirting, he knows – and he knows Eddie can tell, if the twitch of his brow is anything to go by – but what comes out of it is completely out of his hands.

            After a moment of hesitation, where Eddie once again looks confused, he responds, “In your dreams, Tozier.”

            “Every single one of them,” Richie nods in agreement. “Care to make my dreams come true, Eds?”

            “Your ego really is growing, huh?” Eddie muses, walking past Richie to grab his wallet off of the coffee table. He falls back onto the sofa and props his feet up where his wallet had been, cocking an eyebrow up at Richie, who is stock still and watching Eddie warily, unsure what to make of this reaction. Eddie seems to find amusement in Richie uncertainty as he crosses his arms over his chest and asks, “Why, exactly, should I make your dreams come true? Give me a good reason, Trashmouth. Maybe I'll consider it if you do.”

            Richie blanches; he had not, even for a moment, expected something so vague yet so upfront at the same time. Unfortunately (or fortunately, as Richie has no idea how to respond to what Eddie said), Beverly emerges from her room before the conversation can go on. She barely even glances towards them when she enters the living room, adjusting the skirt of her dress as she comes to a halt and absentmindedly questions, “Are you guys ready to go? It’s almost seven.”

            “We’re all set,” Eddie answers, meeting Richie’s gaze briefly before pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the door. He pulls it open quickly with one hand, using the other to pat down his pockets and make sure he has everything he needs, and juts his chin towards the hall. “After you.”

            “Thanks,” Richie murmurs, letting Beverly lead the way through the door and out of the apartment. He can’t grasp what just happened quite right – can’t tell how much of it came from his head overanalyzing every moment and how much of it was actually flirty – but he knows he can’t dwell on it for long. Besides, it wasn’t really  _that_  flirty, was it? If anything, it was a slight suggestion of flirtation, like a subtle wink of sorts; one that has been around in their friendship since the very beginning. The only thing that was really out of place was the confused sincerity in Eddie’s eyes when he spoke, like he might have meant what he was saying but he wasn’t sure why, but that could very well have been Richie’s imagination. After all, he is getting his hopes up pretty high right now, but he likes to think that he can tell the difference between want and reality. If so, then what just happened was definitely real. He thinks, momentarily, that the night may go far better than he assumed.

            He is, of course, painfully unaware of what was to happen in the following twenty-four hours.

            Getting to the restaurant and being led to their table is as uneventful as ever, as is the simple conversation they hold as they skim over their menus and tell the waiter what they’d like to drink. In fact, a majority of the meal itself is uneventful, save for the regular joking and teasing that they often share. Eddie laughs so hard at one point that he lets out a loud snort, drawing the attention of nearby customers that look over with confused frowns, leaving Richie and Beverly cackling as Eddie slumps in his seat to hide his burning face, still giggling under his breath as he does so. The whole evening feels so pleasantly normal that Richie is considering postponing his original intentions for the sake of enjoying the time he’s spending with his friends when Beverly’s phone starts to ring.

            Immediately, her eyes light up. “It’s Val,” she tells them, already pushing herself to her feet with her body angled towards the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

            Richie barely has time to say, “Okay,” before she’s gone.

            The second sign that things may not go as planned is this moment. In the silence that follows Beverly’s departure, there’s something… different in the air between Richie and Eddie. Where there is usually a light, joking tone, there is now an uncertain tension. Uncertain for Richie, at least, because he still isn’t sure what to make of the moment he and Eddie shared before leaving for dinner. Eddie, however, seems fine as he goes on to start talking about something him and Stan had been discussing earlier. Richie can barely process the conversation, mind too preoccupied to even begin to understand the words falling from Eddie’s mouth, so much so that Eddie slowly tapers off mid-sentence, brows twitching together. Richie blinks, zoning back in just in time to hear Eddie ask, “You okay, Rich?”

            “Yeah,” Richie breathes, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, uh- sorry, just…” He pauses, scrambling for something reasonable to say, a proper response that won’t raise any red flags. Unfortunately, though, seeing as he’s still in somewhat of a daze, what he ends up saying is, “I just forgot how well you pull off a suit.”

            Eddie falters, eyes widening slightly in surprise, looking a bit confused even as he ends up sporting a small smile. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Well, thanks, I guess. You look nice, too.” There’s a brief moment of quiet that follows, not exactly tense but expectant, as if the world itself is holding its breath in preparation for what’s to come.

            Richie’s heart skips a beat. He thinks, maybe, that this is it – that this right now is his time to say something special, to make the move that’ll change it all.

            “Um.” Eddie clears his throat, smiling twitching slightly, looking uncertain and even more confused. Richie is almost disheartened by this, until he notices the smallest hint of a blush creeping out from under Eddie’s neckline. “Anyway, uh- Stan said there’s an apartment near him and Patty that he thinks is perfect for me and Bev, and even though Bev and I aren’t gonna be living together when we go to Seattle, I still looked at the pictures and I really like it, so I might try and call the landlord to see if there’s any way I can, like, reserve it until we move, you know?”

            Letting out a small hum, Richie leans back in his seat, letting his mind wander once more as Eddie continues talking. He thinks, momentarily, that tonight may not go as he had expected, not as he hoped, but there’s definitely something happening here, isn’t there? A slight change in dynamic, a little less teasing and a little more sincerity to the comments they usually make to one another. Perhaps he won’t make that big of a move tonight, but he thinks this is a sign of progress – a sign that maybe, just maybe, things will move along before he leaves to return to LA. That is, if Eddie wants things to move along at all; today’s behavior is making Richie think he does, but there’s still that chance that Eddie won’t feel the same. With every passing moment, though, Richie feels like that chance is getting smaller and smaller.

            All thought cuts short when he suddenly realizes that his gaze has drifted downward, intently watching Eddie’s lips as they move, forming the words that aren’t reaching Richie’s ears in the midst of his awe-struck daze. He’s never taken the time to realize how (soft? plump?) appealing they are, a delicate pink contrast against the milky complexion that Eddie’s skin takes in the dead of winter, when he hasn’t seen a lick of sunlight in weeks and any hint of a tan he has is drained away. Actually, now that Richie really looking, everything about Eddie is appealing – something that Richie already knew, he is in love with the boy after all, but he’s never really taken the time to appreciate it. Even the curve of his cheekbones are alluring at this point, the stormy gray of his eyes unbelievably striking in the lighting of the restaurant. Slowly, Richie rakes his eyes back down to Eddie’s lips, jolting when he sees that they’re pressed together into a small smile. Looking back up, he meets Eddie’s gaze, not exactly knowing but definitely aware of what Richie had been doing.

            Mouth suddenly dry, Richie opts to reach for his water rather than try and talk his way out of this, instead cocking an eyebrow in a manner that's both challenging and questioning, giving Eddie the room to either end this here or take it further. His hands are a little shaky when he lifts the glass and takes a long gulp, allowing the cool liquid to calm his thundering heart and ease his mind. When he finally sets the glass back down, the contents mostly drained in the single drink, he almost feels prepared to come up with something to say, seeing as Eddie is still silent. All hopes of that are thrown out the window, however, when he sees that Eddie is no longer holding his gaze; instead, his eyes are following a bead of water that Richie didn’t realize is slowly rolling down his chin, having escaped from the corner of his mouth before he put the glass back down.

            Richie freezes, unsure of how to react to this, before slowly raising a hand and wiping the water away with the pad of his thumb. He hesitates for a second to consider his next move before he decides to throw all caution to the wind – this is already new territory, might as well explore it some more – and moves his thumb to his own lips to lick off the water. Eddie blinks at that, looking more confused now than ever, but the gray in his eyes seem slightly darker than they had been a moment ago. A feeling of satisfaction twists low in Richie’s gut as he withdraws his thumb, and he knows that they’re on the same page here. He knows that Eddie understands what he’s thinking.

            “Eds,” Richie starts slowly, wanting to word this perfectly, afraid of messing it up. “I–”

            “Sorry that took so long,” Beverly interrupts, sliding back into her seat with a wide, excited grin on her face as she sets her phone on the table. She only falters for a second, glancing between them curiously, clearly aware of the odd energy hanging over them, but inevitably shrugs it off as she says, “You won’t believe what Val’s mom did! Go ahead, try to guess. You won’t get it, but... Actually, no, I’m just gonna tell you. She got me a Christmas present! Well, it’s for me and Val, but still!”

            Richie meets Eddie’s gaze briefly over the table as Beverly goes on to ramble about the incredible kitchen set that Valery’s mother got for their move to Seattle. Eddie freezes, blinking slowly, an unreadable look on his face. Before anything else can happen, Richie looks away, not wanting to have another moment like before happen while Beverly is with them.

            He accomplished his goal, though. This was a move that Eddie definitely noticed. Now it’s just a matter of where to go from here.

            The following day, the morning of Christmas Eve, Beverly pulls Richie aside as soon as Eddie disappears into the bathroom to take a shower. There’s an intense look on her face, partially hopeful, partially concerned.

            “What the hell happened last night?” she asks, a hand on Richie’s shoulder that’s just tight enough to let him know that there’s no escaping the conversation. “You guys were acting weird after I got back from my talk with Val. Something changed, didn’t it? Did you finally try talking to him? Is that why you were both so tense?”

            Richie looks over his shoulder nervously, eyeing the bathroom door, wary of Eddie overhearing them. He waits until he can hear the shower turn on before reluctantly turning back to Bev and shaking his head. “I didn’t tell him,” he answers softly, making sure there’s no way for Eddie to somehow hear him through the door and over the shower. “We had, like… a moment, I guess? It was… fuck, I don’t know how to explain it.”

            Curious, Beverly instructs, “Tell me what happened.”

            “Well…” Richie trails off, shaking his head slightly to clear his mind as he searches for the best place to start. “Okay, uh… After you left the table, he started telling me about something him and Stan were talking about, but I, like, completely zoned out. To the point where he stopped talking and asked if I was okay, because I was just staring at him like a fucking dumbass.”

            “A dumbass in love,” Beverly corrects with a small smile, the looks on her face eerily similar to that of a sappy aunt listening to the story of how her distant niece or nephew got engaged. Richie, ignoring the way his stomach churns at the analogy, gives her an unimpressed look, causing her smile to fall as she waves a hand in front of her and says, “Sorry. Go on.”

            Rolling his eyes, Richie continues, “Basically, I couldn’t focus, like, at all, and ended up just blatantly checking him out. Then he caught me checking him out and things got all weird. It was kind of hot, not gonna lie, and I was about to say something when you came back. He hasn’t mentioned it so far, so I haven’t either, but… I don’t know. He looked confused, but it felt like he understood, you know? I think he’s, like, realizing that the things I’ve been doing have been more than just friendly, and… I think he might have felt something, too, but he didn't know what it was.” Richie stops, frowns, and shakes his head again. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, just in case.”

            Beverly nods slowly, casting her gaze downward as she thinks over what Richie just told her, pondering what her reply should be. With every passing second of silence, Richie gets more and more antsy, unable to stand still while his nerves climb higher and higher, until, finally, Beverly looks back up at him and states, “I’m going to leave to get stuff for dinner tomorrow. If you haven’t talked to him by the time I get back, both of you are spending Christmas on the street until you figure your shit out. Got it?”

            “Wait, Bev, I–”

            “Good,” Beverly grins, ignoring the beginnings of Richie protest. She spins around and snatches her bag off the couch, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure I’m not back until after five, so you have plenty of time to do this, but make sure it’s done by the time I get back.” Stepping forward, she presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and offers a supportive smile. “You’ve got this,” she assures his softly. “You know Eddie better than anyone, but I know him second best, and I know for a fact that everything will turn out okay. I promise, alright? You’ll be fine.”

            Swallowing thickly, Richie nods, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

            “You better,” Beverly says, her voice light and teasing. “I’m tired of all this pining.”

            With a scoff, Richie nudges her towards the door and retorts, “Oh, whatever. It’s not like you were much better, Miss. I-Introduced-Myself-As-A-Lesbian-Instead-Of-Using-My-Name-When-I-Met-My-Girlfriend.”

            Letting out a loud guffaw of laughter, Beverly shakes her head and states, “That’s a low blow, Tozier. I can’t believe Valery told you about that.”

            “I thought you were leaving,” Richie says, brows raised. Wordlessly, Beverly pulls open the door with one hand and uses the other to flip him off. She keeps flipping him off as she goes into the hallway and closes the door behind her, leaving him alone in the living room, the only noise being his own breathing and the sound of the running shower.

            Richie inhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. This is it, then.

            He has to talk to Eddie.

            The first thing Richie does after Beverly leaves is calculate how much time he has. She said she's be gone until at least five, which means he's got approximately six hours to figure out what he's gonna say, when he's gonna say it, and most importantly, how he's gonna word it all to avoid any kind of misunderstanding that may possibly occur. When Eddie emerges from the bathroom at a quarter until noon, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist – which, okay, that's not fucking fair, is the world against him or something? – Richie quickly pushes past him to lock himself inside, murmuring some incoherent excuse about having to take a shower of his own. He turns the water on but never makes his way under the stream, instead sitting on the closed toilet seat with his head in his hands as he tries to get a single sentence out of the mess of panicked curses in his brain.

            He does have the common sense to stick his head in the shower and dampen his hair, though, for the sake of making Eddie believe he wasn't in the bathroom having a fucking breakdown for thirty minutes. 

            Thirty minutes, plus the fourty-five that Eddie was in the bathroom for. That's how much time that's been used so far. He only has a little less than five hours left. He needs to just get this over with and talk to Eddie now.

            As it turns out, talking to Eddie is a lot fucking harder than he thought it would be – which is saying a lot, since he already knew it would be one of the hardest things he’ll ever have to do. Every time he tries to say something, to bring up the night before or his feelings or anything, he finds his throat closing in fear, a heaviness in his chest that makes him feel like he’s suffocating. So he drops it for the time being, waiting for the next opportunity to try again, only to choke once more. It’s happened so many times at this point that he knows Eddie can tell something’s wrong, but he doesn’t seem concerned; oddly enough, he seems nervous, as well. Not nearly as nervous as Richie feels, of course, but still nervous enough to gnaw at his lower lip and avert his gaze as he plays with his phone.

            No matter how difficult this is, though, he knows he needs to get it over with before Beverly gets back. Not only does he know she’ll follow through with her threat of kicking them out for Christmas if he doesn’t, but the past two weeks have been so emotionally draining with the odd roller coaster of changes and discoveries he encountered. Sure, he wouldn’t take any of it back, but the sooner he confronts this, the sooner he can relax. Beverly’s right – even if nothing comes out of this, if Eddie doesn’t feel the same way and they just stay friends, he needs to know sooner rather than later so that he can stop overanalyzing every waking moment he spends in Eddie’s presence.

            That knowledge doesn’t make it any easier, though.

            This is, quite simply, the longest day of Richie’s life.

            He tries to tell Eddie every few minutes, tries to force the words out in the heavy air between them, wanting nothing more than to just get it out there already. He tries pinching his own arm, clearing his throat and taking deep breaths, counting from one to fifty and back down again. He tries a million different things to make himself just fucking say it already, but facing problems head on has always been a struggle for him – after all, he grew up in a family of good people who were withered away and turned cold via addiction, and he still hasn’t confronted his parents for the ways they’ve wronged him over the years. If he isn’t able to deal with something as big as that, how is he expected to deal with the situation at hand? How the fuck is he supposed to do this?

            Perhaps there’s a secret to all of this, a certain way of breathing that he just hasn’t managed quite yet, or a specific phrase that will snap him out of this blind panic. Or, perhaps, he’ll never be able to do it, and the words will forever be on the tip of his tongue, so close to being said but remaining unknown to everyone else for the rest of time.

            “Do you want some lunch?”

            Richie blinks himself out of his head, looking over to find Eddie already watching him closely, fidgeting with his hands as he does so. Taking a moment to clear his thoughts, Richie offers a tight-lipped smile and nods, murmuring a soft, “Yeah, sure.” He makes sure not to point out the fact that it's well past lunch time.

            Letting out a slow breath, Eddie pushes himself to his feet, wiping his palms against his jeans and gesturing towards the kitchen. “Well? Come on, Trashmouth. I’ll burn the place down if I try cooking by myself.”

            “No need to tell me twice,” Richie chuckles, following Eddie’s lead as he stands and makes his way across the living room. Eddie trails after him quietly, not offering a retort as he usually would, which only serves to make Richie even more anxious than before. Coughing awkwardly into his fist, Richie spins around slowly and looks back at Eddie. “What do you want to eat?”

            Eddie stops in the doorway, leaning against the wall and biting at his thumbnail. He merely shrugs in response to Richie’s question, answering with a simple, “Whatever works. Just look around and pick something. I’ll do anything I can to help make it without becoming a fire hazard.”

            “So you aren’t going to help make it,” Richie jokes, making sure his wide grin looks as teasing as normal, so as not to raise any alarm bells. It seems to work, if the way Eddie’s shoulders relax as he scoffs is anything to go by.

            “I can do something without starting a fire!” Eddie defends, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

            “Mhm,” Richie hums, already digging through the cabinets and the refrigerator for something that looks appealing. It takes a few moments, but eventually he pulls out a loaf of bread and tosses it to Eddie, who barely manages to catch it due to being unprepared. “Butter up the bread, Spaghetti man. We’re gonna have some grilled cheese.”

            When they were growing up, Richie and Eddie’s go-to food was grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. It became a tradition of sorts, whenever it was just the two of them hanging out, whether it was rain or shine. Back before Maggie got too overcome with her addiction and was arguably the best mother in all of Derry, she’d make them grilled cheese whenever they asked, sometimes even surprising them late into the night when she could hear the two eleven-year-old boys giggling uncontrollably upstairs. Over the years, this hasn’t changed; in fact, Richie refuses to eat grilled cheese sandwiches unless he’s with Eddie. It’s their thing, no one else’s, and it’s not the same if they’re not together.

            Which is probably the most cliché thing in the entire world. Honestly, how did he go so long without realizing he was in love with Eddie? It’s pretty fucking obvious, really.

            The feeling of normalcy puts Richie’s mind at ease as they cook together, eat together, and watch Criminal Minds together. By the time it’s nearing four in the afternoon, Richie can barely feel any of the anxiety that had been plaguing him before and Eddie has lost all the nervous ticks that he’d had prior to now. It isn’t until they get up to put their dishes in the sink that any of the residue tension rises up again, thanks to the way Eddie freezes in the entryway of the kitchen expectantly, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he does so.

            Richie looks at him, confused. “What?”

            “Um.” Eddie averts his eyes, focusing on the floor for a moment before looking back up to meet Richie’s gaze. He tries for a smile, but falls short, instead offering some kind of mixture of a grimace and a grin that makes Richie shift from foot to foot in uncertainty. “Can you- can you come here for a second? Just, like- here.”

            “Okay,” Richie murmurs, cautiously stepping forward to lean against one side of the entryway, not quite sure what to make of this request. “What’s going on?” Wordlessly, Eddie lifts a hand and points above him, looking more anxious now than he has all day. Slowly, Richie follows where he’s pointing, eyes landing on the same piece of mistletoe that had been there last week. Letting out a soft, nervous laugh, Richie says, “I thought Bev took all of these down already.”

            “I, uh–” Eddie clears his throat, letting his hand fall back down to dangle at his side. He looks almost bashful now, scuffing his toe against the ground and avoiding Richie’s curious (and hopeful, so ridiculously hopeful) gaze. “Actually, um- I put that one up. Last night.”

            Richie blanches, eyes going wide. “Oh.”

            Shaking his head slightly, Eddie goes on, “You can- you can totally ignore it, though. I just thought, you know, like- you’ve been acting really different these past few weeks, and I was really confused, but then last night, you- uh- at the dinner, we, like- I don’t know, maybe I was reading it all wrong, but I thought, maybe- maybe it was a, uh- a mutual thing? But I could be wrong, and I’m sorry if I am, I just- I didn’t want to just ignore it, you know? And then I thought of what happened with the mistletoe before, how you said yes and I thought you were joking but maybe you weren’t, and it seemed like a cute idea, but now I’m kind of mortified because I can’t stop talking and you haven’t- haven’t said anything, which is never a good sign because you never fucking shut up, so- so maybe we can just pretend this never happened, if that’s what you want–”

            “Eds,” Richie interrupts, jaw slack in an awe-struck manner. Eddie’s mouth snaps shut as he looks up at Richie, equal parts excited and afraid, leaving Richie to shake his head slightly with a wide, incredulous grin. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to say something since Bev left. I can’t  _believe_  you just stole my thunder.”

            Eddie parts his lips to respond, only to falter in confusion. “Wait, what are you–”

            “Stop talking,” Richie murmurs, ducking his head and surging forward to seal their lips together, drawing out a surprised noise from the back of Eddie’s throat that quickly dissolves into a content exhale as he presses himself against Richie, melting into the kiss. Richie brings his arms down to wrap around Eddie’s waist, pulling them closer together, as Eddie’s own arms snake around Richie’s shoulders.

            Even with their bodies flush together, Richie wants to be closer, on the brink of intoxication from the feeling of Eddie’s mouth slotted against his, so he shuffles forward to press Eddie’s back against the opposite side of the entryway. In reality, they’re just as close now as they had been before, but something about the solidity of the wall being there makes it feel like spaces had been closed, like there’s a blurred line where Richie ends and Eddie begins, like they are one being – like they always had been.

            Eddie is the one to break the kiss, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, smile wide. “So it  _is_  a mutual thing, then?”

            “Oh, my god,” Richie sighs, rolling his eyes. “Can you just, like, not say anything for a minute? I was kind of enjoying kissing you.”

            “Maybe if you say please,” Eddie states, cocking an eyebrow at Richie challengingly.

            “Fine,” Richie says, leaning forward to press his nose to the curve of Eddie’s cheekbone, breath ghosting over Eddie’s lips. “ _Please_  shut the fuck up so I can kiss you again.”

            Letting out a loud laugh, Eddie muses, “Wow, you’re a true gentleman, Tozier.”

            With a wide grin, Richie tells him, “Only for you, baby,” before finally pressing their lips together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! them gay boys got their shit together!!  
>  one more chapter left of this. hint: it consists of two big ass scenes.  
> also, The Surprise(tm) will be revealed with the last chapter, which will hopefully be up by friday since i'm done with after school rehearsals, but seeing as i have a few shows and also schoolwork and shit, i'm not making any promises!!  
> also 2.0, once this fic is done i'm going to start posting chapters for a new reddie fic called paranoia that will consist of college reddie where richie is a dancer and eddie is still trying to figure out who he is and Things Happen. if y'all are interested, keep an eye out for it; i'm gonna try and get at least the first chapter out before june.
> 
> oh, and here's a small little scene that i really wanted to include in this chapter but couldn't find the right place to fit it in:
> 
> Eddie runs his fingers through the tangles in Richie's hair, letting out a soft, content breath as he does. "This is so weird," he murmurs, shaking his head to himself. "It's, like... I always thought you were straight, you know? But now that I know you're not, it feels like... like..."  
> "Like you always knew," Richie muses quietly, leaning into Eddie's touch absentmindedly.  
> "Yeah," Eddie says, looking mildly surprised. "Yeah, exactly. How'd you know that?"  
> Turning his head to the side, Richie rests his chin on Eddie's chest to look up at him through his lashes. "That's how I felt," Richie explains, shrugging one of his shoulder half-heartedly. "When you and Bev came out to me, it was like... like it just felt right, if that makes sense? Like, I never thought you guys were lying, but once I knew you were a part of me felt like it just made sense."  
> Eddie hums, nodding slowly before cupping his hands over Richie's cheeks and drawing him in closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. When he pulls back, he doesn't withdraw far, only putting a few inches between them to ask, "When did you know? That you weren't straight, I mean. And that you like me."  
> "Like is an understatement," Richie snorts, pressing his palms against the curve of Eddie's spine to push them even closer together. He can't get enough of this, already addicted to the feeling of being able to be with Eddie like this, not having to fear rejection anymore. "I figured it out a few days after you and Bev told me the truth, but I think I've always had some more than friendly feelings for you. Actually, I think I was in love with you when we were sixteen, and I was pretty close to realizing it, but when you and Bev told us you were dating, I just... repressed it all, I guess. Didn't give myself the chance to discover this thing about myself until now, after I found out you two were never together. Does that make sense?"  
> Eddie's smile is a little bittersweet. "It does," he mutters, brows drawing together slightly. "I... I know I've said I'm sorry for lying already, but..."  
> "Don't be," Richie interrupts, shaking his head. He uses the pads of his fingers to draw meaningless shapes into Eddie's skin, pushing himself forward to seal their lips in another slow, languid kiss. Eddie relaxes into it happily, making a small noise of complaint when Richie pulls away just long enough to say, "This would have been cool to have when we were younger, but I'm more than okay with how it all turned out. Besides, now we have, like, the greatest getting-together story ever. It's a lot more interesting than two dumbass kids who stayed together forever, don't you think?"  
> "You have a point there," Eddie chuckles fondly. "It'll be great to tell around the camp fire."  
> Richie hesitates, unsure of whether this is a line he should cross yet, but they're Richie and Eddie - there's nothing he could say that would ruin what they have. With that thought, he rests his cheek against Eddie's chest and breathes, "And even better to tell our kids some day."  
> The silence that follows is deafening, just enough to make Richie worry if he should have spoken at all, but then Eddie presses a kiss to Richie's hairline and whispers, "Some day."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sooo late holy shit sorry.
> 
> READ THE END NOTES FOR AN EXPLANATION OF THE SURPRISE I KEPT TALKING ABOUT

            “It’s a dreary Monday in Snowy Seattle right now, and I just have to ask: are you guys ready for Christmas? Give us a ring and we can figure out just how ready you are. After all, tomorrow’s the big day and I know of at least three people who I haven’t bought a gift for yet, so trust me. You’re probably doing better than I am. I’ll be taking calls after this song, so dial on up and we can have a nice holiday chat.”

            Richie reaches over and starts the song, bobbing his head along to the music as it blasts in his headphones, which he quickly pulls down to rest around his neck. Looking through the window of his studio, he meets Mike's gaze and grins when Mike gives him a thumbs up.

            Out of all the things Richie was looking forward to happening when he moved to Seattle, he never expected to end up working at one of the local radio stations with one of his best friends. As it turns out, Mike wants to pursue a career in music production, which he's always been interested in but never talked about actually doing before. When Richie started applying for positions, he was shocked to see Mike get all bashful and say, "Well, actually, the place I work at is looking to hire..."

            It's a small job, only a couple hours a few nights a week, but he has a positive reputation thanks to his gig at the station in LA, so he gets paid well. The company that hired him has also made it clear that they'll be giving him better hours as soon as a promotion is available, so the late nights and overall boring show time (which feels a lot like the show he had when he was eighteen and just starting out) are only temporary. It's that fact that makes it bearable, as well as Mike's company throughout the night.

            Mike taps on the glass to make sure Richie is paying attention to him. There's a smile on his face that Richie can't read as he points down towards the board, mouthing, "Line four!"

            "Line four," Richie repeats under his breath, nodding to Mike to let him know he understands. Apparently satisfied, Mike sits back in his seat and turns his attention back to whatever it was he'd been working on before. Richie has to give him props; he's been working at a radio station for years now, and he still barely understands how it works. Over the course of six months, Mike's perfected the art of handling every piece of technology in the studio, showing so much promise that their boss was ready and willing to recommend him to an actual recording studio somewhere downtown. So far, Mike's politely declined, but it's only a matter of time before he moves on and up. If Richie were to guess, he'd say that Mike is waiting until Richie gets that promised promotion, that way they won't be leaving each other behind to deal with the endless nights with a stranger.

            When Richie pushes his headphones back up to cover his ears, he finds that the song he'd been playing – a fairly recent release, not one of his favorites but decent enough for anyone who may be listening during a late-night drive – is almost over. Finger hovering over a button on the control panel before him, he waits until the final note fades out before announcing, "And we're back! To anyone still kicking, just know we appreciate you. If you're as sleepy as I am, then you're a fucking trooper." Faintly, through the glass, Richie hears Mike snort, causing his lips to twitch into an amused smile. No doubt he'll get chewed out for swearing on the air if anyone finds out, but considering what time it is, he doesn't think he'll be caught. If anyone from the station knows about his cursing, they haven't pointed it out so far. "Anyway, we have a caller! I know, weird, right? It's literally one in the morning, but whatever." Pressing the button to for line four, he greets, "Hello, hello! You're talking to Richie Tozier on Movin' 92.5, who's this?"

            From the other end of the line, there's a low hum. "Just some guy."

            Richie grins, all exhaustion leaving him instantly as he straightens his posture. "Well, well, well, would you look at that! It's our lucky night, dear listeners, for this is not just some guy. For anyone tuning in for the first time, this lovely voice belongs to the light of my life, the one and only Eddie Kaspbrak!" Pressing a button on the board in front of him, he starts to cheer with the audio of applause that sounds from the speakers. Faintly, he can hear Eddie's sleepy giggles, and goes on to say, "Why is this lucky, you ask? Well, Eddie doesn't call in much, thanks to my show being at fuck-the-world o’clock, but when he does? Hoo, boy, we're in for a treat, for this is Edible Eddie, the most delicious man alive!"

            "You're the worst person," Eddie deadpans, though there's a hint of amusement in his voice that Richie can easily detect.

            "And you love me anyway," he replies cheekily, dropping the Radio Host voice that he puts on for the show – it's a lot like his regular voice, just a little bit louder and energetic. Leaning in closer to the microphone, he cheerily asks, "So, what'd we do to deserve your lovely presence tonight, Spaghetti man?"

            He can easily imagine Eddie right now, curled up in their bed with tired, half-lidded eyes, phone pressed to his ear and a small, loving smile on his lips. "I wanted to call at midnight," he says, and then there's the sound of shuffling – pulling the blankets up to his chin, most likely. "But you weren't taking callers yet, so I waited."

            Glancing at the clock, Richie feels his brows pinch together slightly, equal parts awed and guilty. "You've been waiting for an hour? Babe, you could have just called and Mike would have let me know–”

            "I could have," Eddie agrees, "but I don't want special treatment just 'cause I'm your boyfriend. I wanted to wait. Don't worry about me, Rich. I'm a big boy, I can stay up late. Just last year I was usually awake around this time studying, I’ll live.”

            “Yeah, I know, I know,” Richie murmurs, rolling his eyes fondly. “I just feel bad keeping you waiting so long. Now, what’s up? Why’d you stay up just to call in?”

            Eddie chuckles. There’s the sound of more shuffling on the other end of the line, and then he answers, “It’s Christmas Eve. You know what that means, right?” The realization dawns on Richie quickly, his heart skipping a beat, but before he can respond, Eddie murmurs, “Happy one year, baby.”

 

 

 

 

            _In the midst of kissing the love of his life and struggling to piece together the fact that it was real, it became increasingly difficult for Richie to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Even after he remembered, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt what was going on for the sake of conversation, no matter how important that conversation may be. Besides, Eddie must have learned how to kiss from some kind of professional, because holy shit. Just- holy fucking shit._

_But the talk was necessary, and while the intense make-out session was pretty fuckin’ great, if he didn’t start speaking soon then they’d be left in the snow for Christmas. So, with a will much stronger than what he thought he was capable of, Richie pulled away from Eddie, ignoring the adorable little whine that he made in response, and said, “Shouldn’t we talk about this?”_

_“You told me to stop talking, like, ten minutes ago,” Eddie panted against Richie’s spit-slick lips, though his features relaxed into a grin as he quirked an eyebrow in amusement._

_“Touché,” Richie hummed, and, unable to help himself, lowered his head to connect their lips once more. It was meant to be an innocent peck, but he got so distracted that it took at least five minutes before he pushed himself off of Eddie completely (he had no memory of moving from the kitchen, but they were in Eddie’s bed by that point) and sit back on his haunches. “Okay, no, seriously, we need to talk before Bev gets back or else she’ll kick us out.”_

_Eddie snorted, sitting up in order to lean back against his headboard and cross his arms over his chest. “Excuse me, she’ll what now?”_

_Completely serious, Richie repeated, “She’ll kick us out. I’ve been talking to her about shit and she said if I didn’t talk to you before she got back then we’d spend Christmas in the hall. So, as much as I really want to kiss you, we gotta have a good ol’ chat.”_

_“Hm.” Eddie paused, looking both proud of the kissing statement and disgruntled by the lack of kissing happening, then nodded. “Okay, sure. Let’s talk, then.”_

 

 

 

 

            Richie shakes his head, biting back a disgustingly lovesick grin. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

            “Neither can I,” Eddie says, voice now slightly muffled, most likely from turning his head into his pillow like he always does when he’s minutes away from falling asleep.

            There’s a slight crackle that signifies another microphone turning on, followed by Mike’s voice, both teasing and fond, loudly announcing, “Actually, it’s been about seventeen years. You were both head over heels the minute you met.”

            Letting out a snort, Richie turns to give Mike an unimpressed look through the glass separating them, trying (and failing) to fight off a smile. “Dude, we were _five_. I had a bloody nose and he was crying. That’s not exactly a good romantic origin story, Mikey.”

            “No, he’s right,” Eddie hums, sounding amused but too tired to do much of anything about it. “Pretty sure my exact thoughts were, ‘Crap, this cute idiot is bleeding all over me and it’s my fault.’”

            With something akin to the doting coo of an obnoxious mother, Richie pretends to swoon. “You thought I was cute? Oh, baby, how embarrassing!”

            Clearly confused, Eddie states, “We’ve been living together for seven months, Rich. How is five-year-old me having a lowkey crush on you embarrassing?” Richie doesn’t respond, only making more loud kissy noises into the mic, just like one would do to entertain a child. Now with a giggle, Eddie goes on to add, “Richie, I could draw your dick from memory alone. Seriously, there’s nothing embarrassing about what you’re doing. It’s just annoying.”

            Richie comes to an abrupt stop to let out a loud, boisterous laugh – a laugh that the losers call his _Eddie Laugh_ , for only Eddie is the one able to draw it out of him – which he quickly tries to stifle by slapping a hand over his mouth. He can hear Mike laughing, too, but Eddie only makes a confused noise that sounds like it’s coming from the back of his throat, no doubt too tired to realize what he just did. Richie isn’t able to compose himself quick enough, so he just hunches his shoulders and tries to get a hold of himself while Mike explains, “Eddie, you can’t say that on the radio.”

            “What? Dick?” Eddie asks, then immediately snorts as the truth dawns on him. “Oh, shit, I forgot. Well, I meant your face. Like, your name is Richard, and a nickname for Richard is Dick, so there. Please don’t fire my boyfriend.”

            Wiping away tears that gathered from laughing so hard, Richie breathes out, “Jesus Christ, I love you.”

 

 

 

 

_“So, I don’t know where you are,” Richie started, trying not to let his nerves show through his constant fidgeting, “but I’m, like, definitely in love with you. Like, no doubt, head over heels, stupidly in love with you. Seriously, ask Bev, it’s kind of embarrassing.”_

_Eddie blinked, his lips parting into a silent_ oh _as his brows twitched upward in shock. Richie shuffled slightly, unsure of whether or not that reaction was a good sign or a bad one. After a moment of silence, Eddie slowly said, “I haven’t really… thought about it that much yet? It just kind of hit me yesterday that I had any feelings for you that weren’t just friendly, and I kind of acted on impulse by putting up the mistletoe. I didn’t stop to consider how strong my feelings are, I just acknowledged that they exist. But, I think… I think, even if I’m not there yet, I think I will be.”_

_Richie tried not to be disappointed by that response, he really did, but he couldn’t help it. He had just had the most emotionally draining few weeks of his life, and he was grateful, he was, to have this not end in a fight or something worse, but he still… it still hurt, just a little bit, to not hear what he had been hoping for. Trying for a strained smile and pointedly ignoring the dumb, frustrated tears burning the corners of his eyes, he nodded and murmured, “Yeah, uh- that makes sense. I understand.”_

_“Oh, baby,” Eddie breathed, seeing right through Richie’s attempt at a rough exterior. He pushed himself forward until he was on his knees and then shuffled closer until he could cup Richie’s face with his hands gently. His features were pained and guilty as he shook his head, wiping at the few stray tears that betrayed Richie by rolling down his cheeks. “That doesn’t- that’s not a bad thing, okay? I still- fuck, Richie, you’re, like, the center of my universe. Like, nothing else matters when you’re around. Honestly, I probably_ am _in love with you, but I don’t want to say it until I know for sure because I’m scared I’ll doubt myself and second guess everything and ruin something that hasn’t even started yet. But that’s not- that’s not_ bad _, because I still adore you, and I still want to kiss you, and hold your hand, and take you on dates. I want all of that, if you do.”_

_Crying even more, though it had changed to tears of joy at some point during that little speech, Richie leaned forward to kiss Eddie again, making sure not to get too distracted before pulling back and stating, “Fuck, Eds, I love you so fucking much. Of course I want all of that.”_

 

 

 

 

            As usual, Richie doesn’t leave the station until about 2:30, when it’s so dark outside that it almost looks bright, the streetlamps shining and Christmas decorations sparkling beautifully underneath the moonlight. It’s hard to see the stars, as it is in any city, but if he squints he can spot a few here and there, though he has a feeling that has more to do with the thick snow clouds hovering overhead than the fact that this is Seattle. By the time he makes his way up to their apartment, it’s nearing three and he’s slipped on a patch of ice at least six times, almost eating shit each time, and it’s safe to say he’s more than happy to be home. He just wants to change into more comfy clothes, maybe make a cup of tea or something equally warm, and crawl into bed to cuddle with Eddie and get some rest.

            When he unlocks the door and pushes it open, there are still some lights on. That wouldn’t be alarming, seeing as Eddie often forgets to turn some of them off before going to bed, but with it comes a pleasantly familiar smell and the soft sound of quiet music drifting from the kitchen. Already biting back a grin, Richie shuts and locks the door behind him, toeing off his shoes and tossing anything stored in his pockets onto the coffee table as he walks by, rounding the corner to the kitchen as quickly as possible. What he finds makes his heart fucking melt.

            On the kitchen table are two plates placed side by side, both holding two grilled cheese sandwiches, with mugs of hot chocolate sitting besides them. Eddie is sitting at the table, but he’s asleep, arms folded on the tabletop and head nestled into the crook of his elbow as the playlist he made for Richie about five months ago plays from his phone. Just barely suppressing the urge to audibly coo at the sight, Richie carefully steps forward and kneels next to the chair that Eddie’s sitting in, lifting a hand to gently comb through his hair, which draws out a sleepy hum. “Eds,” Richie whispers, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Eds, baby? I’m home. You gotta wake up, Eddie my love.”

            Letting out a little noise that almost sounds like Richie’s name, Eddie slowly blinks open a single eye, squinting through the light to look at Richie. Upon realizing that he’s really there, Eddie opens his other eye, as well, and raises his head with a yawn, looking so adorably disheveled that it makes Richie’s chest ache. Once he looks a little more awake, Eddie sits up all the way and groggily asks, “Wha’ time is it?”

            “About three in the morning,” Richie answers, shuffling back and lifting himself so that he’s sitting in the empty chair besides Eddie. “What’re you doing out here?”

            Blinking once- twice- three times, Eddie barely manages to focus his gaze on Richie and murmurs, “Wanted to do somethin’ nice, for our one year. I didn’t… I mean… I tried to stay awake. That’s didn’t work, obviously.”

            Letting out a soft chuckle, Richie leans forward and presses a kiss to Eddie’s hairline, shaking his head fondly. “You’re clearly exhausted, you should have just gone to bed.” For a moment, Eddie’s features become crestfallen, interpreting Richie’s concern as something negative, and, against his better judgement, Richie adds, “But, if you want, we can warm all this up and have it now.”

            “Are you sure?” Eddie asks, but he already looks more alert, eyes brightening in excitement, and Richie really can’t say no to that look, now can he?

            Reaching over to grab the plates, Richie nods down to the mugs and gets to his feet, stating, “Come on, let’s get this in the microwave. A good three a.m. snack needs to be nice and warm so that it gets us all sleepy and ready for bed.”

 

 

 

 

_Despite the fact that it wasn’t even eleven-thirty yet, Eddie was ready to go to bed, exhausted from the mere stress of the conversation that was to come. He wasn’t even sure when it would happen, only aware that him and Beverly had sworn to come clean that night and there was no way he was backing out of it. Since he was officially with Richie, he understood Beverly’s fearful urgency, terrified of the outcome but so fucking excited to be able to hold her lover’s hand and be open in front of their friends. He wanted that, too, but to get there…_

_Well, Eddie Kaspbrak was never one to handle confrontation well, and this was no exception._

_It was obvious that he was tense, his friends looking at him in concern from time to time, looking ready to ask if he was okay but also seemingly afraid to do so. About an hour into the night, Richie decided to throw caution to the wind – the two of them have been touchy-feely since they first met, after all – and sat by Eddie to hold onto his hand, offering silent comfort. It didn’t seem to raise alarm bells in anyone’s heads; if anything, they all went from being worried to glancing at them fondly, no doubt appreciating their inseparable friendship._

_Eddie almost snorted. Friends don’t usually spend hours kissing like they did last night, but no one else knew that yet, save for Beverly and Valery, who were sitting on opposite sides of the room with clear intentions of trying to look the least amount of lesbian as humanly possible. It was a bit pointless, though, since Beverly was the picture perfect Lipstick Lesbian and Valery looked like she was the epitome of a Flannel Wearing Gay, but Eddie supposed it was only obvious to those who were looking for it._

_“Hey, Stan? Can you grab the remote- no, on the table, to your right- yeah! Could you mute the TV for a sec? Please?”_

_The clock was ticking. Midnight was only twenty-five minutes away. Beverly was the one to speak up, only making brief eye contact with Eddie and nodding to him, moving across the room to sit beside him, Richie still clutching his hand on his other side. Stan set the remote back down after doing what he was asked to do, looking at them curiously. Richie squeezed Eddie’s hand and leaned in slightly, asking, “You sure you’re ready for this?”_

_“I am,” Eddie breathed, clenching and unclenching his jaw to try and relieve some of the tension that had built up in his muscles. He glanced to Richie, returned the gesture by lightly squeezing his hand, and asked, “Are you?”_

_Richie faltered, looking conflicted. Up until that point, he had only come out to Bev, Eddie, and Val, and that was only because he needed advice from Beverly, he wanted to kiss Eddie for eternity, and Valery came home from visiting her family to the two boys heavily making out on the sofa. She wasn’t surprised, though, even admitting that she could tell they had the hots for each other as soon as Richie arrived. The thought of coming out to anyone else was petrifying, but it was exhilarating, too. He wanted to flaunt who he was, and he_ definitely _wanted to flaunt who he was dating. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, a bit stiff but eyes alight with determination as he responded. “Let’s do this.”_

_And, as Eddie reached over to grab Beverly’s hand with his free one, as Valery sat next to Beverly and intertwined their fingers, linking the four of them together, seeking strength and reassurance from one another, Eddie opened his mouth and began to speak._

 

 

 

            With their stomachs full and their hands clutching their warm mugs of hot chocolate, the two of them find themselves in a comfortable, heartfelt silence. Eddie is much more sleepy than Richie is, but he’s not too far behind, if the way his eyelids are drooping is anything to go by. He rests his cheek on the crown of Eddie’s head, the two of them leaning into one another with stifled yawns, taking sips of their drinks every few moments. Richie’s starting to get concerned that they’ll pass out at the kitchen table when Eddie softly speaks up, asking, “Do you think the others would want to go to pride with us?”

            “Pride?” Richie asks, confused. “Isn’t that in June?”

            Eddie nods once, movements slow and languid, groggy and quiet. “Yeah, but I was talking to a friend from work yesterday. Her and her wife have gone every year since they moved here, and there’s pictures of them pinned up in her office. I dunno, I guess it just put the thought in my head. What do you think?”

            Humming lightly, Richie sets his now empty mug on the table, opting to deal with the dishes sometime later, and says, “I think they’d love it, honestly. I mean, Bev and Val will obviously want to go, and I’m still not sure what Bill, Stan and Patty are, but there’s clearly _something_ going on there, something that’s been going one for at least a year and half now. Plus, Mike and Ben are the sweetest people in the world, and they’ve both been openly questioning their sexualities ever since we came out, so… yeah. Yeah, I think they’d want to go.”

            “I want to make a big trip out of it,” Eddie murmurs, sounding half-asleep, words slurred and unclear as he nuzzles himself further into Richie’s side. “I still wish we could have gone this year, but we were in the middle of moving, so I want to, like, turn it into a really big deal. Like, matching outfits, glitter, everything. Make it as gay as fucking possible.”

            Richie laughs, carefully standing and pulling Eddie with him. He takes Eddie by the hand, guiding him to the hallway and shutting the lights off as he goes. “Keep talking, baby. What else were you thinking?”

            Following after Richie with his eyes basically closed, Eddie goes on. “I wanna- wanna get more shirts, like the ones I had when Bev and I moved to New York, and I wanna get some more flags and stuff. Decorate the apartment with ‘em. And, y’know, pictures. Just, a whole lot of pictures, especially of us, ones that I can hang up in my office and show off to everyone else. Like, yeah, that’s my hot ass boyfriend, we’re really gay, and also cute. Maybe then Karen will finally stop trying to set me up with her daughter. It’s fucking annoying.”

            “Is she really still doing that?” Richie asks, highly amused. This has been a problem since Eddie got hired at the publishing company a few blocks away, one of his coworkers blatantly ignoring his sexuality in favor of trying to get her equally gay daughter a husband with a nice job.

            Eddie nods as Richie leads them into the bedroom, carefully maneuvering around the room and helping Eddie climb into their bed. “She is,” he states as Richie hurriedly changes out of his jeans and into something more comfortable to sleep in. “I’ve never wanted to punch an old lady before, but Christ, it’s fucking tempting.”

            “Don’t do anything that’ll get you fired,” Richie chuckles, shutting off their bedroom light before joining Eddie in bed, pulling up the duvet to cover them both. “Forget about that, though. Go back to pride. Did you have any other ideas?”

            “Not yet, no,” Eddie mumbles, reaching forward with childish grabby hands, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Richie’s old band shirt that he wears as pajamas during the Winter and using his grip to pull Richie closer to him. With a soft little laugh, Richie complies with the silent request, moving closer and letting Eddie clamber on top of him, using his chest as a pillow and wrapping his arms around his neck. “I was thinkin’ about New Year, though. Should we invite everyone here, or would Bev and Val’s place be better?”

            Taking a moment to consider this, Richie answers, “I think we should have someone else host it this year. I mean, last year was fucking stressful, let someone else deal with it.”

            “Hosting it wasn’t scary,” Eddie points out, voice soft and somewhat muffled by the material of Richie’s shirt. “Coming out was scary. Hosting it was the easy part.”

 

_“Wait, you’re… what?”_

_“Gay,” Beverly repeated meekly, tightening her hold on both Valery’s and Eddie’s hands. Ben blinked, very obviously struggling to grasp what he was hearing, but he seemed to be the only one who was so surprised. Stan looked smug, his arms crossed over his chest as he shared a knowing look with Mike, who was failing to bite back a grin._

_Bill reached out, clapping a hand on Eddie’s knee comfortingly. Eddie almost winced at the touch, leaning into Richie. “Hey, there’s no reason to be scared of us. You know that, right?”_

_Swallowing roughly, Eddie pointedly avoided everyone’s gaze and murmured, “We lied. You guys deserve to be mad.”_

_“You’re probably right about that,” Stan said, nodding, “but we’re not mad. I fucking knew it, though. Always have.”_

_“Oh, fuck off, Uris,” Bill laughed, rolling his eyes. “You had a feeling, but you didn’t know anything for sure.”_

_Scoffing, Stan defended, “I beg to differ! I knew it, just like I know that those two are dating,” he gestured to Bev and Val. Mike parted his lips, looking ready to point out that that was obvious, when Stan then pointed to Eddie and Richie, stating, “Them, too.”_

_For a moment, everyone looked ready to protest, before some kind of mutual understanding dawned on all of their features. They turned together, looking at the couple before them with wide eyes. After a moment, Ben murmured, “Shit, that makes so much sense.”_

_“It really does,” Mike agreed, nodding slowly, something akin to wonder in his gaze. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before, actually. You guys are, like, perfect for each other.”_

_Richie blinked, surprised, and blurted out, “So, is this a good time to point out that I’m also not straight?”_

_“We realized that much, but thanks.”_

 

 

 

            Richie hums, nodding. “I guess you’re right about that. I still say we should let someone else deal with it, though. Stan and Patty’s place is bigger, probably ‘cause Bill basically lives with them, so I vote for them to do it. What do you think?”

            A soft silence settles over the room, and it’s then that Richie notices the quiet, feather-light snores falling from Eddie’s barely parted lips, signifying that he’s already fallen asleep. With a wide grin and a barely fought off yawn, Richie ducks his head down to press his lips to the crown of Eddie’s head in a gentle kiss. This causes Eddie to shuffle slightly, burying himself further into Richie’s chest and tightening the blanket around his shoulders, mumbling, “Love you, Rich,” under his breath.

            As sleep begins to take over his body, darkening the edges of his vision, eyes fluttering shut, Richie quietly replies, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, if you haven't noticed, this fic is now part of a series. i want to do the same this with this that i planned to do with for you, from me - i'm going to write one shots based in this universe, whether it be my own idea or a requested idea, so that this certain fic can keep going until there's nothing else to add to it. 
> 
> that being said, the first one shot will be put up this week! and if anyone has anything they'd like me to write, comment it below, or send it in my askbox on tumblr, and i promise i'll get to it! it shouldn't take as long as this chapter took, seeing as i'm graduating today and will have a lot more free time now that i'm done with high school and have all summer before starting up college classes.
> 
> but, other than the future one shots, that's it for this fic! the bulk of it is over! this fic is like my baby and i'm definitely gonna miss it, but i'm kind of glad it's over so that i can move onto the other multi-chapter fic ideas that i have started in my drafts.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ sunsetozier!! i have zero self control and usually post a lot of teasers for fics as i'm writing them, so if you like my writing and wanna see little snippets of fics before i post them, you should follow me!!
> 
> tell me what you think in the comments !!


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